The Writer
by PinkBomberJacket
Summary: It's his fifth year at Hogwarts & Draco's miserable. He seeks solace in the library, and there he unwittingly reads muggle literature. It leads him to ask many questions,and who better to answer them than Granger? DRAMIONE. ALTERNATE ENDING NOW. Review!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Potter was being annoying. Again. He was standing in the corner of the hallway in silence, with that fake-haunted look in his eyes that all of the girls

seemed to melt over. At present there were three of them fawning over him, asking if he was alright. Weasley was standing next to Potter, ushering the

girls away with a wave of the hand and a look of distaste. Draco hated how, as soon as the girls weren't looking, the haunting shadows disappeared from

Potter's green eyes, replaced by a malicious, gloating spark. His white-blond hair hanging partly across his eyes, Draco watched the two boys high five

each other just as the bushy-haired mud blood came around the corner, slumped under the weight of her books. He couldn't understand why such a

smart (though he would rather die than say it to her face) witch could not see through her two friend's facades. _Oh great_, he thought sourly, _it's only the _

_first week of school and I already hate everyone here again. _

Draco was dragged out of his brooding state by a rather painful punch to the shoulder as Crabbe came to stand at his side. Goyle scored one to his other

shoulder and Malfoy winced. Despite the fact that he was their leader, Malfoy had noticed that Crabbe and Goyle were starting to be a bit more…. More.

This year they weren't just acting as cronies, per se, but they were starting to have their own opinions. Make their own decisions. Granted, they were still

stupid to the extreme, but as Narcissa had said to her son during the holidays;

"Draco, darling, your father and I don't care if they are the most moronic people on the planet, they are pureblooded and therefore they are superior. You

must maintain your… friendship with them. Their parents are very important death eaters and we must remain in the Dark Lord's favor…" She had

continued on for ages, but Draco had understood the message. Mudbloods are bad. Purebloods are good. Must uphold family image.

The professor arrived at the classroom and every student filed in, taking their seats. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle pushed their way into three seats at the

very back of the classroom. Potter, Weasel, and the mudblood sat in front of Draco, of course. Just his luck. There was no way he was going to be able to

learn with the mudblood waving her hand about in the air every five seconds to answer a question, not to mention having to listen to Potter and Weasel

whisper conspiratorially throughout the entire lesson. He also had experiences dealing with his so-called friends; mostly they spent their time guffawing

as they used a propelling charm to stick Flubbertink's extra chewy gum in girl's hair. Malfoy tried his best to block out the classroom noise and stuck his

head deep into the textbook. During his note taking, however, he found himself drifting off from the topic and doodling in the margins of his book. He was

congratulating himself over a rather pleasing ink drawing of a chimera when the bell rang for end of class. The class surged forward and the desperate

scramble for books before homework was set took place. Draco was an expert at this, managing to make it out of the door first in nearly every class.

However, on this day it was the mudblood Granger who made it out of the door first, her head down and bushy mane of hair bouncing around her

shoulders as she sped off to enjoy the hour or so of free time before the bell for dinner rang.

"What's the hurry, Granger? Those books going to run away from you?" he called behind her. He was disappointed when she didn't even look back to cast

a withering look. _Miserable bookworm_, he thought to himself and walked grumpily back towards the dungeons and Slytherin house.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It was late in the afternoon but no one in the common room could tell. That was one of the things that Draco didn't like about Slytherin; there were no

windows, and thus no sunlight. Trying to hide in the corner of the common room, books and homework spread out across a dark wood and silver writing

desk, Malfoy was gritting his teeth in frustration. It seemed to him that he was surrounded by gorillas and hyenas, all vying for each other's attention. The

silver and green room was a cacophony of noise and movement. From one corner came loud bangs and peels of screaming and laughter where Crabbe and

Goyle were throwing pairs of exploding snap cards at girls. The Quidditch captain was boasting to a group of fourth years about his trip to Kenya and

showing them the contraband curses he had picked up there. On top of all of this, Pansy kept coming over to his table and trying to get Malfoy to notice her

new color of eye shadow, or something shallow and girly like that. When he refused to look at it, or indeed to even answer her whiny questions, she huffily

launched herself away from the table and entered back into the general fray.

_I am surrounded by absolute morons_, Malfoy seethed. He sunk even lower into his chair, scrunched his fists over his ears and tried to concentrate on his

ancient rune cyphers. Then two sixth years sat on his desk and began making out. Something tiny seemed to snap within his brain. With a cry of

exasperation, he wrenched his work from underneath their passionate embraces and stormed out into the corridor. He pounded furiously down the hallway

and people stepped away from him in surprise. He fancied that they could literally feel the waves of anger pulsing out of him and simply knew not to get in

his way. It was only when he turned into an empty corridor and his heart stopped thumping that he realized he didn't know where to go. Or, to be more

specific, he didn't know where he _wanted_ to go. Still feeling angry at the immaturity and lack of consideration shown by his peers, Malfoy knew that he

needed to escape to somewhere quiet, somewhere far from his fellow Slytherins. He needed somewhere that the imbeciles wouldn't find him either, if they

dared to come looking. But where?

The first place that came into his head was an empty classroom, but they always felt _too_ quiet to Malfoy. It was unnerving. He sat down on a stone ledge

underneath a window to think. The sunlight splayed itself across the ledge and onto the ground in a warm pool. No ideas came. Draco was at an all-time

loss, worse than last year when he ran out of funny slogans to put on anti-Potter badges ("Potter Sucks" was as far as he got). However, after a little

consideration, Draco had a brain wave. The light had begun to turn deep persimmon orange as he jumped up from his seat and swept his study up into his

arms. He decided that the best way (or rather, the only way) to temporarily rid himself of his oafish friends would be to go to the library. There were books

there, right? And it was always quiet in libraries, but the quiet of other people trying to be quiet. That sort of quiet was okay. Draco could deal with that sort.

Not the lonely, empty classroom quiet. And so, he loosened his green tie and stalked off briskly towards the library.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Malfoy hated to admit it, but the library really was quite extraordinary. Even back at the family manor there was not such a vast range of books. Mountains

upon mountains of books were stacked upon tables, reading chairs, and shelves. Reading lamps and candelabras filled every nook and cranny, and the

topics ranged from 'Extinct but Still Deadly Mediterranean Sea Fungi' to the 'Great Goblin Revolutions of the ninth century'. He perused the bookshelves,

half skulking; his long fingers brushing along the spines of ancient leather bound tomes and appendixes. He had no idea how being seen in a place like

this would affect his image but he knew it would not be good. A cover drew his eye, and he pulled the book out of the shelf. It was thick, old and

surprisingly heavy, with dense parchment pages and illuminated lettering. Malfoy carried it unsurely under his arm, not knowing the librarian's borrowing

processes. He eventually decided to find a corner of the library and merely read his book there, instead of invoke the wrath of the infamous Madam Pince.

He found a comfortable leather armchair obscured from judging eyes by colonnades on one side and a bookshelf on the other. He lit a candle using his

wand. His corner was enclosed by the piles of books around him, allowing him a view of outside his corner but others a very small space through which to

view him. It was slightly cramped, dark, dingy, and smelled of age, and damp, but he didn't mind so much. It would do. Draco hadn't even looked at the

title of his book before something had caught his eye.

It was Granger, and she had a teetering pile of books in her arms. She balanced her way expertly over to an overstuffed armchair bathed in golden

sunlight and lay down her books on a reading table nearby. Malfoy himself had considered the taking the chair, as it was very close to a large window

with a beautiful view. However he had grudgingly disregarded it when he realized it was too open for his own needs. Granger took the top book from the

pile and immediately curled up comfortably in the chair with her legs tucked up underneath. She was right in his line of sight but he knew that Granger

wouldn't be able to see him in his corner. It was too dark and too enclosed fro her to notice. The sunlight bounced off her hair, giving it a faint glow. She

turned the pages delicately, and every now and then would look up and turn her gaze out of the window thoughtfully. _She looks so peaceful_, Malfoy

thought_. So comfortable. Like this was her home_… Draco shook himself and squished that idiotic part of his brain and turned to his book. The title was one

that he didn't recognize. In gold leaf, the curlicue letters spelt Grimm's Fairy Tales. Tilting the book, the words gleamed dully in the candlelight. Dispelling

the last traces of empathy for Granger from his mind, Draco tentatively turned to the first chapter and began reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

After that afternoon in the library, Draco increasingly began to spend his spare time in the corner, surrounded by books. He had immensely enjoyed that

first stay in the library, and eventually adopted that nook near Granger's chair as his own. Occasionally he would do some study or research for essays

but mostly he just sat there and read his book. As the weeks went by and the weather grew colder, he noticed how often Granger was there, always in

the same chair bathed in light, and always with a different book. He noticed how different she was in the library to when she was with her friends. Out

there with her friends, Granger was shrill, anxious and irritating to the point of nausea. She was always hunched over under the weight of her school

books and always felt the need to correct others. Here, where there was no one to correct and no one to prove herself to, it was as though Granger

shape-shifted. In the library with her books, she was calm and serene. In a word, peaceful. Malfoy could not help his eyes being drawn to her; after all,

she was the only other person in sight. He sat there for minutes on end each time, and when he grew conscious of what he was doing he would rouse his

thoughts and force his eyes back onto the page. After a while he began to notice things. Things that no one had probably ever noticed about her before.

Things like how the corners of her mouth twitched upwards whenever she found an error in a book, because she knew deep down that she had thwarted

some great witch or wizard through their error-making. How her brow furrowed when she read a NEWT leveled textbook and struggled to understand a

particular concept. Draco was startled one day by the sound of clear, warm laughter from outside his nook. His heart began to leap with a curious

pleasure when he occasionally heard that sound. He looked carefully around the corner of his shelf to see Granger smiling, with her wand in the air as she

attempted a spell she had just read about. Over the space of a week or so, Malfoy had watched her turn a small pile of gobstones into yellow fluff balls,

eventually forming fluttering, chirping yellow canaries. Another time, she had shot streams of sparkling gold confetti from her wand which trilled and

squeaked like trumpets.

Malfoy enjoyed the library most of all because hen he was in the library he didn't need to act like a _pureblood_ amongst lower subjects, or live up to anyone

else's standards. No one stared at him or glared at him in his corner, or in the library at all (with the exception of Madam Pince, the librarian). In fact, he

had only seen a handful of people in the library since he had started going there weeks ago, and none of them ever noticed his presence. They were all

far too consumed in their studies to ever look up at the sound gentle footsteps of a nervous Slytherin who wouldn't be there if he knew what was good

for him. He could just sit in his armchair and become lost in the tales of another time and another place, and he could forget all of the little things he must

do in order to uphold his family's name. At times it almost seemed like too much effort to sniff at every muggle-born he saw, and to pretend that he didn't

care if they were insulted or upset. Of course, it took a lot of time and doubt for Malfoy to admit to himself that maybe, just maybe, the pureblood-

mudblood stuff he had been raised upon was wrong. Maybe the old fool himself, Professor Dumbledore, had something right. This new concept, this new

perspective, came as an unsettling change to Malfoy and he tried to stifle it beneath his reading.

He had quickly finished the Grimm's Fairy Tales (and thoroughly enjoyed it despite the gross errors in fundamental magic laws) and returned to the section

of the library where he had found it. He had continued to read many other stories after that one, and it was only half-way through a book called

Huckleberry Finn that he realized, much to his own horror, that every book he had read had been about Muggles. A sickening sensation of foreboding

bubbled up in Malfoy's stomach. His breathing constricted and with book in hand he had strutted to the section and searched for a plaque or sign

indicating what theme of novels he had been reading. He brushed his hand over a tarnished copper sign. It was undeniable; there upon the plaque,

written in plain, unremarkable letters, were the words that spelt Malfoy's doom.

MUGGLE LITERATURE.

Malfoy stifled his own cry and dropped the book in his hand like it had bitten him. He frantically kicked it under the bookshelf and refused to look at it

again. Struggling to control his own panic and holding his breath, Malfoy looked out from behind his shelf. No one had noticed his cry out in the library. He

exhaled. _No disgracing of the family name today_, he thought to himself triumphantly.

A thought struck him. He peered back around the corner of his hideaway. Granger sat there, engrossed in what appeared to be Hogwarts: A History.

Malfoy knew that this was at least her third reading of that book in the last month, and had drawn the conclusion that this was her favorite book. As he

was watching her she swept a stray lock of brown hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. Malfoy wondered what muggle stories Granger must

have read over her years. The speed that she read with, he wouldn't have been surprised to find that she could quote any text on the shelf, word for

word. She had muggle parents, after all; she wouldn't have grown up on Beadle the Bard or the Toadstool Tales (he shuddered at the memory of Narcissa

reading that awful drivel to him as a child). Draco was disappointed though. He knew that she would ignore him if he tried to ask her a question about it. 

_She'd think that I was teasing her_, he thought miserably. There was no way to ask her face to face. Then it clicked; Draco nearly laughed with glee.

He would write her a note! A note without a writer's name attached to the bottom. That would make her curious and she would write back. But how to

give the note to her was the question now. He couldn't put it into the Gryffindor common room; he would need a password. Nor could he get anyone to

give her the note; too conspicuous and Granger was bright, she would figure out who sent it to her. He could slip it inside a book, but there were so many

books in the library, what were the chances of her reading the one he put it inside-

"Hogwarts, a history," he breathed to himself. He nearly did a frightful muggle dance he had once seen (and most certainly NOT practiced in a mirror at

all). He would just wait until Granger left, slip over to her table and put the letter in side the book, and then BAM! It was so simple! She would just leave a

reply note inside the book and he would go over and get it. Draco was very proud of his own genius and extremely excited. He could find out what muggle

books were the best, which ones to read, and-

wait. _Why do I care about muggle books so much?_ Draco asked himself. They were made by filthy, dirty mud bloods… a little voice inside his head reminded

him of how much he had enjoyed reading the books before he figured out who they were written by. For once, he decided to listen to that little voice and

not to squish it with logic or pureblood propaganda. He tore a page from his potions notebook and with a shaking hand quickly scrawled the message;

'Granger,

I was wondering, since you undoubtedly have a superior knowledge on the subject than I, what would be a good muggle book to read?

Any suggestions from the library would be much appreciated,-'

Malfoy paused. "Your Secret admirer" or "Anonymous" just seemed fruity. And Malfoy knew that he wasn't fruity. _This is a very serious question_, he thought

to himself, _and needs something a little more elegant._ However, he was completely at a loss. Eventually, he decided to just sign off as 'Writer'. He then

attached at the last minute,

'P.S. please just leave a reply inside this book. Much obliged!' and left it at that. By the time he was done, Granger had left the library. Malfoy quietly made

his way over to her little nook. For some odd reason Malfoy thought he could smell fresh grass and early morning dew mixed in with the usual parchment

and ink in that area. Malfoy disregarded the idea and slipped the note into the book around the spot she was reading. Draco scurried out of the library,

shoulders slumped and bag slung over shoulder. Now there was only to wait.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Hermione sat down at her spot heavily and flung open her book with a sigh of exasperation. It had been a particularly difficult day for her. Harry had been

acting like a stuck up ass for the entire day, acting all teenager-y and pubescent. Everything she said was wrong, and Harry felt the need to tell her so

every waking minute of her life and expect her to take it. He had also gotten into his head, after having suffered through several terrible lessons with their

new professor, Umbridge, that it would be a really CLEVER idea to start their own little defense-against-the-dark-arts club. Although unable to deny the

fact that Umbridge was, quite simply, an appalling teacher, Hermione didn't think that having an illegal club at the school was the right way to act out

against it. On top of that, Ron would not stop begging her to do his Charms essay for him. When she had refused, he had thrown a bit of a tantrum and

stormed off. However, she now let out a deep breath, let all of the days worries seep out of her like a poisonous cloud, and settled deep into her chair.

Now was a time to read, enjoy, and forget. Later she would go up to the common room, give in to Ron and write the introduction of his assignment for him

and just ignore Harry and his incessant whining a little bit more. But she didn't need to do that now. She flipped open her page and a torn piece of

parchment fluttered out. It landed on the floor at her feet. It had obviously been marking her place, but she could not remember putting it there herself.

She picked it up out of curiosity to discover thin, angular scrawl upon it.

"How odd," she thought to herself, turning it right side up. She read it over and puzzled. Who in their right mind would want to read muggle books when

they went to such an amazing school as Hogwarts? She couldn't understand it. However, she read the note again, pondered her answer, and then

scribbled her own thoughtful reply on the back of an old test paper (240% correct). A little burst of pleasure warmed Hermione. She was flattered that

someone had regarded her expertise about books far superior to their own (although she didn't doubt for a second that it wasn't true). She read over her

reply, nodded to herself, and put it inside the front cover. The anonymous note she smoothed out carefully and placed on the arm rest of her chair. She

would study it later. Hermione attempted to focus on her book but her eyes kept drifting towards the note, lying there innocently next to her. She packed

up a little earlier than usual. After such an intriguing little event her concentration was a bit lackluster to say the least. She blew out her candle, looked

around the library for anyone, then left for the common room with the note in her hand.

Draco nearly high-fived himself, he was so happy. She had written back to him! And there was no trace in the slightest of withering looks or hostility. It

was a nice change to how she treated him in day-to-day life. He paused. Maybe he could lighten up a little bit more with her. Make fewer jibes at her

expense. Huh. But she _replied_! Malfoy attempted to control himself and avoid skipping back over to his corner, but he couldn't hide the childish, goofy grin

that spread across his thin face. He read the note again and again. The book title he recognized because he had actually looked at it on the shelves. His

goofy smile stubbornly refused to fade as Draco bounced over to the shelves. Scanning the spines, he was already thinking through his next note to

Granger. Should he write to her before he finished the book? Or should he wait it out, finish it, and then write his comments? He was still considering this

as he returned to his little corner and curled up in his chair. Might as well read the book and reply afterwards, he decided. And he turned to the first page,

swept his blonde hair out of his eyes, and began reading.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The weeks went by swiftly and Hermione and Draco kept up their correspondence through Hogwarts: A History. As each note was passed between them,

Hermione became more and more puzzled. Who was this anonymous writer who was reading muggle books? Why did they remain so secretive? It certainly

wasn't anyone she knew. No one matched up, personality-wise. From the scribbly cramped hand-writing she had decided it was a boy, but the words

themselves were far too kind and thoughtful to have come from any of the ones that she could think of. In their notes she had asked the writer if they were

a boy or a girl, and what year they were in, and they had replied in kind. However, the writer had refused to give up any more information, insisting that

when the time was right he would let her know who he was.

Initially the letter process went like so; Hermione would suggest a book to the writer, and then she would wait a couple of days until they finished the book.

The conversations following would be in regards to their opinions about the book, the plotline, how it should have ended, and occasionally, they would have

funny quote-off pages, where they wrote down their favorite quotes from the book on a communal piece of parchment. After a while though, the writer

began to divulge information. Their opinions about various topics. The writer had asked many questions about muggles, and the way that they lived, and

Hermione had answered the questions as best as she could. The writer admitted to being wizard born, and in a few of the notes he had written about how

controlling his family was, and about how they were obsessed with blood lineage. This didn't rule out as many people as she had hoped; as she delved into

the subject of blood with other peers Hermione discovered that although the students themselves were accepting of muggle-borns and half-bloods, a lot of

their parents and families were not. The writer had also said that he were rather confused about the topic. He had always been taught one way of thinking

but as he read and wrote to Hermione, that way of thinking was beginning to seem absurd, and silly. Day by day, it seemed that the writer's opinions were

changing.

As the leaves turned gold and the students began to wear scarves and cloaks outside, Hermione began to look forward to the notes. She discovered that

she felt a bit disappointed when there wasn't a new torn piece of parchment inside Hogwarts A History, and that her heart jumped a little when there was.

She wrote to the boy about how painful her friends could be, and about how they didn't listen to her. She wrote about how much she hated the constant

mudblood taunts from Slytherins, especially the ones from Draco Malfoy. She surprised herself with how much she was opening up to this boy. She just felt

that she could tell him anything and he wouldn't judge her at all. She told him in one of the notes that she sometimes wished that she could hang out with

the anonymous writer instead of with the numbskull boys that she_ did _hang out with. A lot of the time she wrote about much she loved the library. That was

a common feeling for the two of them. They both came to the library because it was a safe haven, an escape from the people and events around them.

Outside of the library though, Hermione had noticed something odd and couldn't quite put her finger on it. Malfoy was quieter than usual, and seemed to

have stopped picking on her. Hermione couldn't figure out why. Her main theory was that Malfoy had just grown up, or that he just couldn't be bothered any

more. But she didn't care about Malfoy; he wasn't worth her time. Just another pureblood-obsessed, stuck-up bully. She pushed him out of her mind. He

didn't matter to her in the slightest. The anonymous writer though…

Hermione surprised herself about a month or so into their correspondence, when she finally realized why it was she became so excited when the writer left

notes for her. She realized that it wasn't mere fondness or curiosity any more; she had sort of developed a… a _crush_ on this writer-person. He was always

so polite, and so courteous in his letters, and they had so much in common… Hermione tried to push the thought out of her mind but the revelation hung

about like the cries of a baby mandrake, making her feel slightly dizzy every time she thought about it. She wondered if this boy had begun to like her also,

and begun looking for hints of it in his notes. She of course hated the fact that anything, let alone a mere _boy_, could send her into such a spin; it was starting

to affect her _schoolwork_. At the same time though, she felt elated, and noticed (much to her own horror) that she would occasionally start fantasizing in class

about what her writer looked like. For some reason she had built up an image of a tall, lean boy with brown hair. Unfortunately Harry and Ron had noticed

her distractedness and had put two and two together. Whenever she was sitting in the common room, doing homework or spell practice, Harry would sneak

up behind her and ask her who was the "sorry sod she'd fallen for", and make stupid guesses at who it was. Where Harry teased her, Ron would sulk, or

become moody and tromp about the common room in a huff. Their annoying and humiliating treatment led Hermione to spend even more time in the library,

huddled over a book practically morning until night. She hoped that her mysterious friend would reveal his identity soon, not the least because she had

grown to really like this person. A little part of her, the part that was quite competitive, wanted to find out whether her mental image of him was correct. But

mostly she just wanted to hang out with a like-minded person who could appreciate her for her.

_Please let him approach me soon_, she thought to herself as once again she left the library alone, looking in vain for her friend with neither name nor face.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Hermione flicked through her test paper proudly as the bell went for the end of Charms class. Everything was right, of course. She had studied for two hours every night for a week

before that test, so when she got back her marks she was not in the least surprised. The class surged forward and split up as it left the room. Hermione checked her timetable,

whipping a sheet of paper out from her satchel as she walked away from the room. She was walking down a long stone corridor, surrounded by people, when her bag split. _Just my _

_luck_, she thought. She bent down with a groan and started picking up her things. She heard a person coming up behind her and heard the rustling of their clothes as they knelt

down. She assumed that it was either Harry or Ron, and looked up with a convincing (yet false) smile plastered across her features. It vanished very suddenly. It was Malfoy, smiling

unsurely from under his silky, pale blonde hair as he held out a quill and a notebook.

"Hi," he said quietly to her, and she whipped her head around sharply to face her bag. She stood up and Malfoy irritatingly fell into step with her, still carrying her things.

"What class do you have now?" he asked her. She looked at him, then back at the books in her arms. Hermione was puzzled.

"Um, I have ancient runes, I think." She answered carefully, meeting his grey eyes with her own brown eyes.

"Cool. I have that after lunch, I think. Do you have to do the assignment on the Centaur Ciphers of the great Sixth Dynasty too?"

"Yeah. I've nearly finished mine. You?

"Haven't made it past the introduction. Frightfully hard stuff isn't it? And I can't tell one 'clicking' symbol from the other…"

"Neither!" Hermione laughed, "They all look virtually the same! But if you look closely, the 'jch' character is slightly more curved than the 'kch' character."

"Oh, of course! I should have seen that!" Malfoy's face lit up with comprehension and Hermione smiled.

"What do you have now?" She asked as they made their way up a moving staircase.

"Herbology, I think." Malfoy winced at the thought of it. Although he knew all of the answers he had forgotten to fill in the homework sheet. He knew that Professor Sprout would

have his head.

"Well, you're going to be late if you don't go now." Hermione said, checking her watch.

"You're right. See you later, Granger." And he turned away with a smile. Hermione continued on around a corner, beaming like a fool, then stopped. A horrified look spread across her

face. _What on earth was THAT?_ She thought. Why on earth had the person who teased her mercilessly over the last few years suddenly decided to turn around and be nice? Had she

maybe been wrong about him? _Was Malfoy actually nice?_ But he couldn't be. He had never been nice before, or at least not to her. What had changed?Hermione shook her head to

scatter her befuddling thoughts. She remembered why it was that she was in that part of the castle and cursed as she darted towards Ancient Runes. She was nearly late to her

class, and was unable to focus on her work. She kept coming back to this same strange encounter in her mind, and trying to figure out what was behind it. The mysterious writer

suddenly appeared in her mind. There was something about Malfoy's manner when they had just talked, something so nice and honest about him, something that seemed so much

like her quill-wielding friend… But it couldn't be. Malfoy despised all of that "Mud blood rubbish" as he had once called it in Muggle Studies, not to mention the fact that he had made

it perfectly clear how inferior he believed the library to be. No. Malfoy surely couldn't be her writer friend. There was no way on earth. Hermione smiled once again to herself as the

bell rang and picked up her bags. Off to the library to check for a letter.


	8. Chapter 8

*** Author's Note***

A thankyou to Bluisasome for pointing the out some flaws in my depiction of JKR's characters. I have reworked this chapter for you in the hopes that it makes

the story more believable and enjoyable. Thanks everyone for the reviews! Keep reading! Keep Reviewing! It all helps!

Chapter Eight

Malfoy actually skipped once he knew he was but of Hermione's line of sight. His face split into a grin and he felt positively giddy with delight. He whooped

his way down the corridor, racing towards the Herbology greenhouses, then realized what he was doing (and was revolted by his actions) and

compensated by sniffing his nose at a muggle-born first-year nearby. His first proper conversation with Granger had gone brilliantly, as far as he was

concerned. He was sorry about having to curse her bag into splitting, but what happened afterward was so good… his heart leapt as he realized that she

had actually laughed at something he said, and they had found something in common other than their taste in muggle books. It was so exciting! And he

had taken special care to not call her a mudblood or anything. His joyous waltz down the corridor was abruptly stopped by an outstretched foot and an

impromptu levitation session on Draco's part. He seemed to fly slow-motion through the air, only speeding up as his body hit the ground. He grinded

face-first to a halt in the middle of the corridor, ridiculously spread-eagled as his books exploded across the floor. He pulled himself upright, and his grin

had completely vanished. It was Potter and Weasel, standing imposingly over him. Malfoy sprang to his feet, bristling with indignation on the inside, but

hiding it by brushing off his uniform with a smirk on his face and sweeping his books up expertly in one movement.

"Sorry, Malfoy, I didn't see you there." Potter smirked and smiled at Ron, whose face didn't crack at all. He just remained staring at Draco like he was

carved out of stone. Like a gargoyle. _What an ugly gargoyle he would make, too_, thought Malfoy. The corridors were nearly empty. Everyone was going into

their classrooms. Noticing this, Potter leant in close to Malfoy, close enough to speak and not be overheard by anyone else.

"We saw you with Hermione just then. We saw you split her bag." Malfoy paled slightly, but didn't drop his smirk. Malfoy was never going to admit to fear,

and to POTTER, of all people. No. He would never let on. After a pause, Potter continued on.

"You leave Hermione alone, got it?" Harry hissed at him. Malfoy raised himself to his full height and conjured his favorite look, the sneer, for their benefit.

This sneer was an altime best of Draco's. If there was a sneering section at the Olympics, Draco would have easily won the gold every year. If it was a

tourre de Sneer, in which all of the great sneerers of the world sneered their way across the land of Sneer, Draco would be kilometres in the lead from the

very start. It was that fantastic a sneer. He brought the sneer home with his very best, unmistakeable drawl.

"I'll do whatever I want, Potter. Besides, 'tis none of your business what I do." He replied smoothly. He went to breeze past the two of them but

Weasel stepped up to block his way. _Jeez_, Malfoy thought, _what is WRONG with these people? What is this? A Western movie or something?_

"Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to block people's way?" he said, trying to push past to no avail.

"I don't think he's getting the message, Ron." Potter said, with an exaggerated note of concern in his voice.

"A real pity, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Ron said lamely. Draco almost laughed out loud at how ridiculous they seemed. It was obvious that they didn't do this very often. Draco, of course,

being a Slytherin had perfected interactions such as these. The two clowns in front of him just seemed to be quoting every cliche'd standoff in the history

of Muggle Western books. And did Malfoy know about Western novel books? Why yes he did, thanks to a suggestion from a friend.

"Allow me to make it a little clearer for you," said Potter.

"Don't. You. Dare. Hurt. Her. Ever. Do you understand now, Malfoy?"

"Reading you 'Loud and clear', Potter," Malfoy said sarcastically. He even threw in a mocking salute. _And that's a rap, People_, Malfoy thought smugly.

Weasel's cheeks was going red with anger, but Potter nodded, a smirk on his face.

"Come on, Ron. Let's go. Ferret Face is getting it now." As they walked past Draco, who remained frozen in the hallway, Ron shoulder-barged him and

Draco fell down painfully onto the floor for the second time in ten minutes. He was completely unprepared for his second fall, and as he hit the floor the

palms of his hands were the only safety net. He lifted them up to see them glittering a stinging red with his own blood. Eyes watering from pain, he let his

pale hair hang down over his face to hide the involuntary tears threatening in the corners.

"Where are your gorillas now, Malfoy? Learning to count somewhere?"

He didn't stand up until their footsteps had died away in the distance. When he was satifsied that they had indeed walked away, Malfoy wiped his

bloodied hands on his robes, cursed soundly at Potter and Weasel, and picked up his things yet again from the floor. _One day,_ he thought through gritted

teeth, _I'll get them back. I don't know how, I don't know when, __but I will._ He rolled his shoudlers and groaned. He hoped that falling was not going to become one of his habits, literally or... OR emotionally. It was too painful a thing to do. I hurt too much. Hurt... As Malfoy noted later, Potter had only said that he could never hurt Hermione, NOT that he couldn't talk to her. _You have to be so specific with these things,_ Draco reasoned with himself. _In fact, it's Potter's fault in the end. He shoudl have been less ambiguous. So, that means that I can talk to her, and I could get to know her, and then I could... I could... _

Filled with blind hatred, indignation and strangely a little bit of hope, Malfoy hobbled off to class.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

For quite a while now Pansy had felt that Draco might be avoiding her, and he hadn't been turning up for very long to lunch or even to dinner. When she had tried cornering him for

information he was always evasive and would disappear like smoke between her fingers. Pansy was a very, very jealous girl, and naturally she began to suspect that something was

wrong. Draco must be hanging out with someone, and it wasn't_ her_. And that made her angry. After about a month of ignoring her instincts, Pansy came up with what she

considered an extremely clever plan. She would follow Draco, and see what it was he was doing when he wasn't laughing at her jokes and showering her with compliments like he

should be. After all, they were _friends,_ weren't they? And don't friends shower each other in complements and laughter? So, that lunchtime Pansy waited for Draco to come into the

great hall. When he did, he was in a great rush, and picked up a sandwich with one hand, a cup of pumpkin juice in the other, then he was gone. But Pansy followed. She managed

to tail him inconspicuously through the school, until Draco pushed open a large wooden door and shut it quietly behind himself. Pansy followed. She was surprised to find that she

was in the library. She had never even been in the library before. What on earth was Draco doing in the library? She thought. She saw a corner of a black robe rounding a corner and

dashed forward to follow. She watched as Draco wandered over to a chair drenched in sunlight, looked about, and then slipped a little piece of paper into an enormous book that

looked really lame. He then walked back the way he came, and Pansy ducked behind the shelf as he swept out of the library. When she heard the door swing closed, she darted out

from behind the bookshelf and walked over to the book. She tipped it open experimentally, and the piece of paper fell out. Curiosity taking a hold of her, she picked it up and read it

with the difficulty that comes from years of comments like "Books are lame".

_Dear Hermione,_

_Thanks for the suggestion of Dracula. Despite the major errors that Stoker made in describing vampires, I found it quite a thrilling read. _

_I quite agree with you. The pureblood-mudblood bullying at Hogwarts really ought to stop. We're all magic, right? I used to care, but now I realize it doesn't matter whether you're a _

_muggle born or not, everyone is just as deserving to be magic as anyone else (even muggleborns). _

_I'm glad that I have you to write to. Without our notes, I don't know whether I would still be sane. Or, at least, still not Insane. I'm sorry I remain anonymous; I still think that it is _

_easier for you to not know who I am. I promise to reveal my identity before the end of school, however._

_Thank you for your patience,_

_Writer_

It took her a moment, but she eventually figured out that Draco must be this Writer person. Pansy was livid. The situation was worse than she had imagined. Not only was Draco

not hanging out with her, but he was communicating with a _mudblood_! A mudblood _girl_! The nerve of him! To associate with such a low, disgusting level of filth was… simply

unacceptable. Pansy's mind couldn't comprehend it. Her deluded brain slowly began warping the details for it's own special little purpose, and after a moment or so it had figured out

exactly what was "going on". Malfoy was playing a trick! Of course he was playing a trick on the muggle girl. How clever! How funny! He was pretending to be her friend, so that he

could embarrass her later! That explained Malfoy's odd behaviour. Now that she knew what was going on, she was unsure how to go about it. _Should I tell Draco that I know_? She

thought to herself as she read the letter again. No_, I don't think so. He might get angry at me. I should wait. _After thinking for a while (it was a very slow process for Pansy) she

decided to let the letters play out a little while longer, and she would find a way of using this situation to her own advantage. _So precarious, this secrecy is,_ she thought to herself as

she tucked the letter in the book again. So very, very precarious.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

It was a few days after Pansy had discovered Draco's little secret, and Hermione was enduring another afternoon session with a group of Gryffindor girls. Hermione noticed drearily

that the girls' topics of conversation could almost be mapped weekly. On Mondays (because Quidditch practice was on) all of the girls would discuss which guys looked hotter in

Quidditch robes, or they would discuss hair. On Tuesdays, the girls would either moan about how much school work they had or they would whine about their

nails/weight/eyebrows/skin. Wednesdays and Thursdays were usually taken up by discussions about having girl's night's in over the weekend and using contraband Zonko or Weasley

products like love potions or Puking Pastels. Fridays were usually the days when the Gryffindor girls would tease each other about boyfriends, imaginary, hypothetical or otherwise.

That evening the hot topic was the first ever Halloween Masquerade Ball, being held in the Grand hall on All Hallows Eve. It was a week or so away, and all of the girls were discussing

their dates and their dresses. Apparently many of the couples were going in matching costumes. Ginny had even shown Hermione the ball gown she was going to wear. Hermione

had listened to them all with a slight sadness in her heart, for she knew that there was only one guy who she would ever want to take her there, and that that could never happen

because of the fact that she didn't even know who he was. _Ah well_, she had thought, _it's just a dance. Who cares?_ But a little, absurd part of her had then imagined her dancing

with her writer, spinning across the dance floor in a princess frock. Her mother had even insisted on sending her a dress in the mail, despite Hermione's protests. She had promptly

hidden it at the back of her cupboard, because she knew that she wouldn't be wearing it anyway, so what was the point of it sitting there, staring at her sadly? Always the practical

one, she was.

Ron had been bugging Hermione about whether she was going to the ball with anyone. She had answered no, and had followed it up with a thorough bashing of the idea of a

Halloween dance, stating something about how it was not historically accurate at all and was a waste of everyone's time. As happened so frequently at the moment, Ron had

slumped off grumpily mid conversation leaving Hermione slightly bewildered. It was only afterwards that she realized Ron had been trying to ask _her_ to the dance. She had

shuddered at the thought, adding another reason not to go to the ball to her measly list.

It was eight days before the dance that the Writer himself brought up the subject of the ball. Hermione had gone to check a source for her transfiguration essay and briefly checked

Hogwarts a history for a note when she found it.

_Hermione_, it read,

_I know that this may seem absurd, as you don't even know who I am. I don't even know whether you already have a date or not. However, I might as well ask, so here goes;_

_Will you go to the ball with me?_

Hermione had to read this several times before it sunk in properly. A frantic buzzing seemed to fill her as she acknowledged that there was no other way to interpret that question.

She read on quickly.

…_As it is a masquerade ball, we would both of course wear masks, and I hope that you would forgive me if I tell you now that I would not reveal my identity to you on the night. I _

_just don't want your opinions to change about me once you know who I am. Unfortunately_

_, I'm not known as the nicest person in real life. But, taking all that into account, I should also like you to know that I would like nothing more than to spend time with you, mask to _

_mask. With all this in mind, would you still consider going with me?_

_God, I feel so stupid right now,_

_Writer_

Hermione finished the letter but the furious buzzing in her chest didn't cease. She would be able to finally see her writer, even if he was dressed up and masked. And she would be

able to dance with him, for an entire glorious night. Her hands shook furiously and she couldn't help but grin stupidly as she scribbled her answer for him;

_Dear Writer,_

_I would absolutely love to go with you to the ball. There is no one I would rather go with than you. However, how will I know you? As you won't tell me who you are, I'll need _

_something to identify you. _

She paused momentarily before continuing.

_I'd also like you to know that no matter who you actually are will not change my opinions of you, Writer and that you shouldn't worry about telling me._

_Answer back soon!_

_Hermione _

She pushed open the library doors and couldn't contain a squeak of pure excitement and happiness. She hugged herself and walked off to her next class with books and note in

hand. She didn't even notice the boy outside the library with the white-blonde hair, standing in the shadow of a pillar and smiling after her.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The days flew by until the ball in a haze of dizzy daydreams and awfully boring classes. Finally the evening arrived and every girl in the school from the third year upwards scurried to

communal bathrooms so that they could size up each other's costumes and get dressed frantically.

Hermione inspected herself in the dormitory mirror, all alone. Her hair had been carefully crafted into a bun laced with little plaits, a pearl hairpiece used to fasten it. Two sausage-curl

ringlets of hair fell down on each side of her face. As an extra precaution for her identity (she didn't want Ron to know that she'd turned him down for someone else), Hermione had

found a charm that temporarily switched the hair colour of the user to it's exact opposite. She had tried it out beforehand, and when it proved successful had written a note to her

Writer to tell him what to look for. He had written back saying that he would be using the charm also. So at present, Hermione had silvery blonde hair that gleamed in the moonlight,

and somewhere else a boy was smoothing down his own strange new hair colour. She had been forced to sneak up to the common room with her hair tucked into a Gryffindor

beanie, but no one had paid her any attention anyway. As far as anyone was concerned, Hermione might as well have been a speck of dust, or a draught making its way through the

common room. Looking into the mirror, she found it quite unnerving to see such a drastic change to her appearance , but was very happy with the way she had managed to scrub

up. _Not too shabby_, she thought proudly as she twirled in the mirror. After making sure that everything was done up properly (it had taken the best part of twenty minutes to do up

the ribbon-laced corset at the back), and that her mask completely covered her face, she breezed out of the fat lady's portrait and down the staircase for her date with fate.

Malfoy was waiting in a corner of the hall, hidden by the shadowy half-lit candles. His mask was in place, covering his face until halfway down his cheeks. No one came near. Draco

was on edge, impatiently slicking back his silver-blonde hair every few moments. Malfoy had sort of mislead Hermione in his letter, about the changing of his hair colour. His hair was

normally a rather conspicuous part of him, but if her said that it _wasn't_ his real hair colour… Surely she wouldn't figure it out. As he stood waiting in his nook he looked around at the

scene unfolding. All of the tables had been removed from the room, and enormous orange and black pumpkins had taken their places around the edges. Straw covered large areas of

the floor, and there were enormous barrels filled with floating candy apples for bobbing. He had seen a couple of sixth-years attempting to bewitch the apples so that they bit people

unfortunate enough to go bobbing, and Longbottom had been of their first victims. The students crowded the hall, their costumes a mass of colour and texture. There seemed to be

a fairly even split between muggle costumes and magical costumes. There were dragon masks breathing fire, and costumes with swishing tails. There were several girls wearing

angel costumes with actual flapping wings and there were boys who had come in Chudley cannons costumes. There were also some half-bloods and muggle borns who had gotten

their parents to send them costumes in the mail. There were flamingos and lions, sheep and mermaids and dragons, and every colour in the rainbow milling about on the dance floor.

The music had not started yet and people were darting in between clusters of friends admiring each other's costumes. He was watching someone's frog-mask as it whipped out it's

tongue for effect when she entered. She was a vision in ethereal white, her costume that of a beautiful spirit. Her dress shone with a grace and delicacy that made the other

costumes seem to blur into the background. Or was it just the way she wore it? Layer upon layer of white tattered gossamer made up the skirt of the gown, and the bodice appeared

to be lined by moonstones. Over her heart there appeared to be a large patch of seeping red blood, and one of her white elbow-length gloves was stained red. Her white mask went

from side to side, looking for him. He stepped out of the shadows and walked regally towards her, his silvery-white costume an eerily perfect pair to her own. It was pure luck that

their costumes matched. Sort of. Malfoy had confunded a Gryffindor second year, who he had sent to find out what she was going to wear. Not that she needed ever know that. He

bowed to her, she curtsied and they linked arms. Everyone in the hall had fallen into an awestruck hush. The ghost pair glided forward and the crowds seemed to part, the way they

only do in books. They made it to the centre of the dance-floor, and as if on cue the music started up. Draco had been forced to take dancing lessons as part of his "pureblood"

education. He had hated every minute of it when he was younger, but now as he spun and lifted Hermione gracefully into the air like she was nothing more than a feather, he

silently thanked his eight-year-old tutor for the hours of waltzing mercilessly inflicted upon him. For the first thirty seconds of music, Hermione and Draco were the only ones

dancing. His silvery-white cape fanned out in the same manner as Hermione's dress as they spun. Everyone stood around, watching the two ethereal dancers in rapture. Then they

all seemed to stir at once and began their own dances. Draco could practically hear the minds of his peers all asking the same question; _who on earth were they, and why on earth _

_were they there_? He smirked under his mask. As the dance ended, Hermione rested her pale-haired head upon his shoulder and whispered, "Well, it's lovely to meet you, Writer…"

He swore that she could feel his heart skipping jerkily inside his chest.

The entire crowd applauded and professor Dumbledore stood up at the front of the hall, the toad-like Umbridge standing only a step behind him. He placed his wand to his throat.

"Thank you all for coming to this celebration of All Hallows Eve. As our first ever Halloween dance, I believe it is running remarkably well, and would like to thank the band for their

wonderful work, and all of the guests for their wonderful displays of physical finesse upon the dance floor. Also, I would like to thank our spectral couple for their enchanting opening

of the dance. I can safely say that I have never seen such grace and serenity on the floor of this hall, and to you two unknown students, I give my full respect." He winked at them,

and the crowd applauded again. Draco was convinced that Dumbledore somehow knew that it was him and Hermione behind the masks, and that his message was meant to mean

something more.

The students all applauded and the music started up again. Draco looked toward Hermione, who stared back into his eyes. He could tell she was trying to figure out who he was

through this crucial part of his face. It was lucky she didn't care to look at him very much in class.

"Shall we dance?" he asked her nervously, hoping that she wouldn't pick his voice. A smile spread across her uncovered lips.

"I would love to," she replied, and she laughed as he swept her off her feet and spun into the evening.

Hermione had been right in her physical prediction. The Writer was taller than her and lean, and what few facial features she could see were fine and handsome. His hair was white

blond like Malfoy's but she knew that it wasn't him because the colour was fake. The Writer had told her so in his letter. His eyes were grey, with streaks of icy blue through them.

His costume was exquisite; a gentleman's attire all in a spectral, cold white like her own, with a tattered gossamer cape over one shoulder. Also, as she had only dared to fancy in

daydreams, he was an excellent dancer, far better than anyone else in the hall. She knew that there were several pairs of eyes on them at any one time but she didn't care. They

danced for several songs, until Hermione was thoroughly exhausted, then they went and sat on a pumpkin in the corner. They talked and laughed and Hermione noted the kiss that

appeared in one corner of the Writer's mouth when he smiled. She could tell that he was being careful not to say which house he was in, and to not give anything away. But she

didn't mind, because she finally got to quiz him on everything she couldn't put into a letter, the trivial things like favorite foods and annoying teachers. She was surprised and pleased

with how easy it was to get along with him. When a slow dance struck up and the lights were dimmed the Writer took her hand gently and led her onto the floor. His arms embraced

her and she felt his warmth seeping into her skin. She lay her head upon his shoulder and closed her eyes. They turned slowly to the music and Hermione could smell him. The only

way to describe it was the smell of sunshine in Spring. Like the colour gold. When the dance ended, the Writer whispered in her ear.

"We ought to leave," he said, "I don't know about you, but it would be best if no one knew I was here with you." Hermione thought of his pureblood confessions, and remembered

with a tiny pang of guilt Ron. She nodded and the two dancers had left the hall as silently and swiftly as if they were the spirits like they were dressed.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

They walked swiftly down a couple of winding corridors, just to make sure that no one was around. They slowed down in an old abandoned hallway awash

with moonlight, and Draco led them to a stop in front of a silver window. Hermione looked into his eyes. If only she could figure out whose they were…

"I wish you would tell me." She said. The Writer blinked behind his mask.

"Tell you…?" he pressed, though he knew where this was going. He had already prepared himself for this eventuality.

"Who you are," she said, a withering look entering her eyes. _So endearing_, he thought. _So Hermione._

"I'm sorry that I can't. You wouldn't understand if I did. You would think this was all false, all a trick…"

"Is it?" she asked quickly, her brown eyes boring into his own. He drew her close.

"Of course not," he whispered, taking her delicate little hands in his own. He said it with such ferocity, such sincerity, that Hermione simply fell willingly and

without a second thought.

"Close your eyes," he said to her.

She shut her eyelids, her lashes fluttering a little. His fingers gently unlaced her mask, letting it fall to the ground nearby.

"Keep them closed," he said. His heart beating frantically (so much could go wrong right now), he removed his own mask and dropped it as well. The sound

of it hitting the smooth stone floor echoed around.

"Why?" she asked, taking a shivery breath.

"Just trust me," he whispered, and he kissed her. He felt her tense against him as his lips touched her own. Hermione had been caught off guard. Draco

realized with a swooping sensation to the stomach that he had managed to surprise the girl who knew and expected everything. Then all at once she

seemed to melt, to give in to him. It was Draco's turn to be surprised suddenly by the force with which Hermione kissed him back. She was kissing him back! 

_Him_! He ran his fingers across her smooth, bare shoulder blades, felt them move under his touch like the shiver of a butterfly's wings. Her own hands

tentatively glided up his back as she kissed him in return, and Draco's head swam with guilt-ridden delight. Her fingertips, worn smooth by the turning of

countless pages entwined themselves in his soft hair, around his neck, and down his back again. She brought one up to his face, and with her eyes still

closed she began to trace her way along his cheek bones, his nose and his chin. He pulled her waist in close to his, and she gasped as they sank deeper

into their embrace. Draco was drowning in his senses. He could smell the sweet aroma of her shampoo, and the delicate floral tang of her perfume. He could

hear her many-layered skirt rustle as she moved even closer to him, and could feel the light tickle of her hands across his back. He could feel the cold

moonlight washing over his face and the air around him shimmered faintly at the pure magic that was electrifying the air. Draco could have stayed as they

were forever. _This_, he thought, _is perfection. This is who I'm meant to be, and who I'm meant to be with_. After what could have been seconds or centuries he

heard the faint echo of footsteps in a nearby corridor. He broke away from her and quickly retied his mask to his face. Hermione opened her eyes as he

pressed her mask into her hands.

"Time for us both to part, I'm afraid," and with a suave smile, he stole a last brief kiss from her lips and melted into the shadows themselves. Hermione was

still swooning inside her head as she made her way through secret passageways. She reached the dormitories, quickly stripped of her costume, stashed it in

her wardrobe and tucked herself into bed before anyone else had even entered the room. She drew the curtains around her bed and changed her hair

colour back with a wave of her wand. Sitting on her bed cross-legged, Hermione was smiling with her eyes closed and pondered the Writer. _Such gentle lips_,

she thought, absentmindedly bringing her fingertips up and pressing them against her own. She wished with all her might that she was back in that

deserted hallway with her Writer, covering her in unnumbered kisses. Finally, she laid back on her bed and fell asleep. Her dreams were filled with silvery

kisses and those familiar grey eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Well, of course the two anonymous spirit-dancers were the talk of the school. All of the details began to be mixed up, and the basic fact of whether the

dancers were human or apparition was swiftly becoming one of the most debated and confused topics. Draco smirked as he heard a second-year saying to

his friend in the corridor,

" I saw them, I swear I saw them! They passed right through the wall by my bed and said goodnight to me! It's the truth, I tell you!"

As the day progressed, the claims became even more outlandish. Some sixth years began talking of the dancers being two mermaids from the black lake,

coming up to be human for a night.

The worst part was not having anyone to talk about it with, and to conspire with over it. He would have found it so much more fun if he had been able to sit

close to Hermione, whispering in her ear about all of the silly things he had heard in the hallways. He would have been able to make her laugh, hear her

stories in person and feel her body so temptingly close to his own. That was one of the many things that made it seem more and more appealing to just

reveal himself as the Writer. Of course, he wouldn't, but it was becoming more and more difficult to push the thoughts, the daydreams, from his mind.

Pansy was becoming exceptionally clingy of late, and it was all Draco could do to keep her dark-green and sparkly talons off him. Draco tried his best to just

ignore the annoying girl, with her stupid remarks and complete intolerance. She was just one of the many members of his peer group who would never

understand his true thoughts and opinions. Also, he was starting to think Pansy knew something about his letters, but he couldn't be sure. One moment she

was telling EVERY LITTLE DETAIL OF HER LIFE, and then she would shut up like a moody little clam and not speak to him at all. _She's a weird one_, he had

thought one afternoon in late November. It was a week before the Christmas Holidays, and Draco had been trying to sneak up to the library to deliver a

letter, when she had seemed to apparate from nowhere and then doggedly persue him through the corridors. He had only lost her by entering a boy's

bathroom and exiting through the secret route behind a tapestry in there. _Going to have watch her_.

After the Halloween ball, Hermione had sort of floated along in a daydream-filled bliss. Ron and Harry's taunts seemed to wash over her like a rain over an

umbrella, and nothing could phase her. After spending several long evenings in the library, Hermione was pleased to accept that she was approximately a

term ahead in her studies than everyone else, and her grades had never been better. Therefore she spent her ample spare time reading up on muggle

literature herself like her Writer or answering letters from said writer. The tone of their letter's had changed subtly; now, both Hermione and Draco could feel

the longing behind each sentence, the desire to truly know each other and to be together. It was almost too much to bare for Draco. Every time he saw her

now, he had to fight the urge to smile and wave at her. Just like that, and he was sure that she would know. It would be so easy, so simple, like falling, or

dying. Yet his entire world would fall down around his ears if that was to happen. _Oh, it's all so RIDICULOUS!_ He thought in frustration for the umpteenth

time. _Stupid bloody blood!_ And stupid it most certainly was.


	14. Chapter 14

** AUTHOR'S NOTE**** This is just a quickie chapter that i'll update properly later. The next one will be longer! :)

Chapter Fourteen

The Christmas Holidays came and went, and Hermione missed the witty banter she and the writer had shared in their library notes. She had almost expected

the Writer to send her notes by owl post, but when they didn't come she understood why. He would probably be scared of having the owl recognized, or

tracked or something. She had come to accept the fact that he would tell her who he was when he was ready to tell her. She even tried hard to quench her

desire to… investigate. Anyway, even if she did receive a letter from him, how would she write back? She had no address, no name, and she wasn't even

sure if he would be in the country. For all she knew, he was off on a holiday with his family to Yugoslavia or Transylvania or something. _No_, she told herself

repeatedly, _it is better that he isn't writing to you. It would cause too many problems for even YOU to deal with_. Also, Harry had dragged her into helping him

with the administration side of his illegal Defense class. Communicating with so many people (the club was very popular) posed a rather large problem. So,

naturally the task fell to Hermione to solve it. In fact, it was her Writer who had suggested the fake galleons in the first place, and had even helped in the

making of them. It was tedious work, and Hermione had tried to imagine her Writer sitting next to her, helping her with the workload. It made her smile and

helped to wile away the time.

They returned to Hogwarts to discover even stronger rules and punishments had been put in place since their departure. Umbridge was tightening her

stubby-fingered grip on the school and everyone was feeling the heat. Harry, Ron and Hermione were barely able to give out the fake galleons without

arousing the suspicion of Filch, who was wearing a look of greater and greater glee as each day went by.

Her first visit back to the library was in the middle of the second day back at school, and she hadn't expected anything. She was just going to drop off her

little letter, and leave. But what she discovered drove her to be late for her next class; the copy of Hogwarts: A History was wedged open by a bound pile of

letters, at least twenty, each and every one addressed to her. She sat down in her chair, kicked her feet up and opened up the letter at the very top. As she

began reading, she quickly figured out that her Writer had written one for every day of the holidays. Each was filled with love and yearning, and Hermione

felt a swooping sensation that hadn't truly visited her since All Hallows Eve the term before. Each and every letter brought a smile to her face, and Hermione

felt something catch in her throat every time the Writer had said something funny. The last letter was ended with a post script, which read;

_Look under your chair, Hermione._

Immediately, she had swung herself upside down over the armrest of the chair. Underneath, sitting there inconspicuously, was a little box, wrapped expertly

in silver paper. She actually exclaimed as she pulled out from under the chair, and taking an excited glance around she had carefully pulled the Spellotape

from the paper, careful to keep it intact. A little box fell into her hand. She opened it and gasped at what she saw. It was a heavy silver pendent, suspended

on a delicate chain. She looked closely at the pendant. It was ornately spun silver, in the shape of a mask. His mask. With a smile on her face and conviction

in her heart, she put on the necklace and tucked it inside her robes.


	15. Chapter 15

***AUTHOR'S NOTE*** Thankyou to everyone who reviews, it really is appreciated. Take it to the beat, I hope that this spacing is better for you. Review in reply and I'll change the other chapters. Otherwise, just send me a Personal Message.

Chapter Fifteen

The exams steadily beat their way towards the fifth year Hogwarts students, and Hermione's life took a turn for the busy. When she wasn't being endlessly talked at about Harry's conspiracy theories over his stupid dreams (which he was SUPPOSED to blocking out, mind you), Hermione was writing lists for the D.A., doing both Harry's AND Ron's homework for them, and then there was her own schoolwork as well. NOT that her schoolwork was hard or anything, it was just a little bit boring, especially since she had already learnt all of it the term before in her own time. The exams were over five weeks away, and she was already prepared and calmly revising, whilst everyone else was still learning the material.

Hermione was actually convinced that if it weren't for the Writer she would be insane. She relied more and more heavily upon her rant-letters about her friends as a source of comfort, and although she didn't know it, her Writer was growing bolder and bolder with every word that she wrote. Every time that she vented her opinions about her "imbecilic Neanderthals of friends", it pushed Malfoy closer and closer towards actually saying something to her. If her friends were THAT annoying and boring, surely even Draco, the infamous muggle-hater and pureblood, ferret extraordinaire would seem slightly appealing.

The D.A. meetings had started up, and Hermione had to admit that she was actually getting better at defensive magic. She had not realized that the long hours of "theoretical" defense lessons with the Toad, Umbridge, had actually taken any effect on her spell-casting capabilities. However, it was becoming harder for the group to meet, as Umbridge seemed to have caught whiff of it, and had set up the "Inquisitorial Squad" in order to quench it. Leading that team was, _ugh_, Malfoy. Hermione regretted the fact that he had joined the squad, along with his ape-headed cronies Crabbe and Goyle. She had actually thought for a moment that he was becoming, well, _nice_.

_Ah well_, Hermione thought as she headed off to the Room of Requirement for their meeting. _Live and learn_. It was around the end of January, and the smell of spring had started to taunt the students, washing through the bravely opened windows along with the chilly fingers of Winter. It was evening, and Hermione was late for the meeting. She had set the gold galleons off, telling everyone exactly what time to be there. Hermione felt guilty as she was meant to be setting an example. She rounded a corner into a corridor only two turns away from the Room of Requirement, and suddenly, there, right in front of her was the full inquisitorial squad. Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, and she wheeled around and ran the other way. Adrenaline gave her wings, and she marveled at her own speed. She had always thought of herself as academic over athletic. _Nothing like the threat of torture from a Toad to turn you into an Olympian, _she thought lightly as she leapt passed columns in the middle of the hall. She heard a low shout, from Goyle she supposed, and could hear the pounding of feet behind her. They were catching up. Hermione steered herself swiftly into a hiding place behind a deserted tapestry, and heard the footsteps thunder past her. _God, they're so stupid_, she thought to herself smugly. She waited for five or minutes, and when she thought the coast was clear, Hermione stepped out from her hiding spot only to have a hand whipped across her mouth and to be pushed back behind the tapestry.

It was dark behind the tapestry, and the hollow in the wall barely fitted one person, let alone two. They were pressed very close together, too close as far as Hermione was concerned, and all she could see in the semi-darkness was the shadowy form of her captor. She squirmed and kicked frantically, cursing under the offender's hand.

"Shhhhh!" the captor hissed at her.

"MMMMUUMFFFHERMMNUARGH!" she berated him ineffectually through his hand.

"Stop KICKING me and YELLING and I'll bloody uncover your mouth!" The frustration and unmistakable drawl made Hermione stop. She recognized that voice. Slowly, tentatively, he lowered his hand.

"_Draco?"_ she hissed at him, and in the shadow could just see him nodding.

"What the HELL are you doing?" Draco had never known that confusion and venom could all be expressed in such a short sentence, but Hermione managed to do it.

"I'm protecting you from Umbridge, you stupid girl! Now be quiet, would you, and listen."

He paused, waiting for her to launch into a Hermione tirade, but none came.

"The other's in the squad are a few corridors over, you should be able to make it to the Room of Requirement without any fuss. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course I understand!" she said indignantly. "I'm not stupid."

"Good. Then go, quick." He steered her out, his hand against the small of her back. A million questions erupted in her brain, all vying for attention and importance. How had Draco known which night the meeting was on? Why was he helping her? Why hadn't he marched her straight off to Umbridge? Hermione was ashamed of herself for asking, of all of her intelligent and important questions, this one;

"How did you know I was in there?" She stopped as she turned to walk away and looked back at him. He was standing there, leaning against like the wall like he owned it, and smiling a self-indulgent smile. He swished his hair out of his eyes and said.

"That's for me to know and you to _never_ find out."

And with that aggravating answer, they turned and went their separate ways down the corridor.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Pansy couldn't stand it any more. It was too much to handle. That night when the squad had attempted to find Potter's group again, she had seen Malfoy split off from the group but thought nothing of it. They had been chasing Granger, with her bushy hair bouncing as she ran down the hallway. They had turned down a corridor and couldn't see her anywhere, and had decided to roam about in search of their missing mudblood. The reward would be so high. It was only when Pansy cracked a joke that she found hilariously funny and no one had laughed that she realized he was gone. Vanished. Pansy panicked for a second; where was he? She split off from the group herself and back-tracked. She wheeled around a corner and then there was Draco, looking pleased, and Pansy just saw dashing down the hallway the brown mane belonging to Granger.

"Draco! She's getting away!" Pansy went to run after her, but was restrained by his lean and muscular arms.

"No, no, she's okay." He said to her. "The little bookworm was heading to the library. She's of no use to us." Pansy almost shrieked in frustration. Now he was fighting for THEM! She couldn't take it. Pansy flung off his arms and stepped away from him. She had to remain calm, keep what few wits she had about her.

"So, did you question her, or something?" pansy asked, her pug-face pink from the slight exertion.

"Yeah," he answered. "I asked her what she was doing in the halls at this time of hour, she swore at me, so I docked her ten points from Gryffindor. She told me to sod off because she was heading up to the library. That's it." But Pansy could see the softness in his eyes as he spoke of her, and knew. Pansy knew that it was time to bring him to his senses and awake him from this nonsense.

A week to the day after, Pansy skulked up to the library. It had taken her well over and hour to do what she had done, several days to plan it and then another half and hour to locate the library to put her plan in place. Stealthily, she peaked around the piles and shelves to make sure that neither the mudblood nor Draco were present, before starting across the room to the pile of books near the overstuffed armchair. She had then spent ten minutes looked through the titles of the books, finally finding the one that Draco had used last time as means of communication. Hogwarts a something or other, she remembered. Pansy dimly thought that she might actually own a copy of that book, but of course had never opened it, or if she had it was covered in little doodles of her name and Draco's, surrounded by love hearts and lol's. She pulled out a letter from the inside pocket of her robes, and read over once more just to make sure it sounded legitimate.

_Dear Hermione, _

_Thankyou for being so patient with me. I know that it has been very unfair for you, not knowing who I am, or anything about me at all, for that matter. I would like you to know, that you know way more about me than any other person in this world. Therefore, I think that it is high time to show you who I am. If you are willing, I will be waiting for you at the Whomping Willow at six o'clock, Friday. As it is Tuesday now, when I am writing this letter, I shall be seeing you there in three days._

_Please Reply,_

_You Humble Writer_

She had 'borrowed' one of Malfoy's workbooks and painstakingly copied his handwriting. It had taken three copies, but she had produced one that looked pretty close. Pansy was, overall, rather pleased with herself. She closed the letter up, slipped it inside the book, and strode purposefully from the library. Now that precarious balance Draco had been keeping all year was going to slip, but who was going to fall?


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Hermione read the note several times over, barely believing her eyes. Her heart leapt with joy and excitement at the prospect of finally meeting her mysterious writer friend. And so soon, too! She felt a little overwhelmed at the thought of it. She had written a reply that very day, of course, but for one reason after another she never made it back to the library. _Ah, well_, she thought_, I can leave the note for him tomorrow_. But she got held up yet again by an essay that she hadn't quite finished for Professor Binns (and she knew how testy he was about tardiness and unfinished work). And so it was only on the day of the meeting that she managed to place the note in the book. She was extremely excited, but worrying thoughts began to seep into her mind. What if this person wasn't how she had imagined? What if they were actually mean? What if it was all some sort of cruel trick devised to make fun of her? It was these thoughts that Hermione tried really hard to push from her mind. She was sure that it couldn't be a trick. No one could be that mean, not even the Slytherin group. Not even Malfoy. Despite his recent crusades in her favour, Hermione still wasn't convinced. What was he playing at? But he didn't matter at all. Why should he? He most certainly wasn't the Writer, and she was sure of that.

About an hour before she was meant to meet him at the Whomping Willow, she made an excuse to Harry and Ron and made her way up to the empty dormitory. There, she pulled out some of a sixth-year's eyeliner and, with a little bit of apprehension, tried her hand at the magical practice of makeup.

Pansy was positively quivering with excitement. She had talked to Crabbe and Goyle about her clever plans, and had managed to convince them to be a part of it. It wasn't that tricky; all she had to do was tell them exactly where Malfoy had been hanging when he wasn't with them and they had agreed. She hadn't even needed to mention the letters to them. Her plan really was quite brilliant, and she knew that even Draco would find it funny when he found out. And so, as the sun sank lower into the sky, Crabbe and Goyle had taken their positions behind some boulders and she had chosen to sit in Hagrid's pumpkin patch, an ideal lookout spot for the upcoming action. She settled down on a pumpkin the size of a fridge, omniocculars at the ready. She clutched them in her piggy fist and waited to watch the Whomping Willow mayhem begin.

Malfoy wandered up into the library to check the book for notes. The sky was turning pink, and the dusty spines of the books shimmered in the half-light. He peaked around the corner, checking to make sure Hermione wasn't there, then strolled over to the armchair, which he had been staring at for so long. He tipped the book up and wiggled it slightly. He let the paper gently slip out and glide down onto the floor before picking it up. It read like so;

_Dear Writer, _

_I cannot wait to meet you tonight. I shall see you down at the Whomping Willow at sunset, right? That is what your last letter said, after all. I look forward to finally putting a name to a face, my friend._

_See you at six,_

_Hermione _

Draco's heart plummeted. What did this mean? He had said nothing of the sort in his last letter. Had someone tampered with his letter? But no one knew, he hadn't told anyone about the letters, and he doubted Hermione would have told anyone. His mind raced as he tried to remember anything that he had said to anyone. And then it clicked; he had seen Pansy skulking near the library a couple of times that week but hadn't taken any real notice than to avoid her and enter through another door. She must have planted a note for Hermione. He knew Pansy. She was a very jealous girl, prone to holding grudges and always extremely clingy. She had once poisoned a Hufflepuff girl's owl just because she thought that the girl _liked_ Draco, _maybe_. Of course, she had denied it, but Draco had known. Pansy had stolen poisonous pustule pods from herbology class the day before, told him about them, and then when the teachers found the poor owl it bared all the signs of pod poisoning. It had all just been too neat. If she'd been capable to do that to a girl with virtually no evidence, What on earth was she going to do to Hermione when she went down to the Whomping Willow? Would she twist the story, tell her about Malfoy writing to her? Or something far worse? The thought made him sick to the stomach. He wouldn't- he _couldn't_ let Pansy ruin the one true friendship he had, even if it meant revealing himself to Hermione tonight. He checked his watch; ten minutes to six! His heart pounding, he streaked from the library, winding his way around the twisting columns and parapets stone. His feet echoed on the worn floors, and his robes billowed out behind him like great black wings. He had to reach the Whomping Willow before Pansy did something awful. He raced out into the open air just as the sun touched the edge of the horizon, drenching the sky with streaks of blood red. As he skidded across the slippery sunset grass, his heart plummeted lower than he knew it even could. In the shadows of the Whomping Willow, he could hear the screams.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Hermione had wandered down to the Whomping Willow a few minutes early and stood a safe distance from its gnarled branches. She had well and truly learnt her lesson two years ago, when she had been given a thorough beating by it in the attempt to rescue Ron. She looked about; there was no one else in the grounds. She twiddled her wand absent-mindedly in her fingers, and thought back upon the last half hour that she had spent listening to the idle chatter of the Gryffindor girls in the common according to Hermione's conversation map, the girls had discussed their potential, real or completely made-up boyfriends. She had endured it, but everything that seemed to come from the girls' mouths was shallow, and hadn't really been of any interest to Hermione. She had ended up daydreaming about her lovely Writer, and wondering who it was. She really hoped that it wasn't Neville, or someone else like that. As nice as they were, they certainly didn't fit her image of a tall, debonair prince, courteous but full of romance and honor.

A chill wind blew, tossing her brown locks across her face and waking her back up to the present. She drew her scarf tighter around her neck and shivered. It was only a few weeks from the start of the exams, and the budding leaves on the trees were just starting to unfurl. Hermione was wondering when her writer was going to appear when a pair of rough hands grabbed her arms from behind and pulled her backwards.

Another pair of hands wrenched her wand from her gloved fingers. She panicked and went to turn her head, but the other pair of hands covered her mouth and held her head in place. She kicked her legs wildly, and caught one of the attackers on the shin. A low, muffled "Ouch" came from behind her. The strong arms dragged her backwards and she tried to hold her own against them. The leaves of the Whomping Willow stirred ominously behind her and she realized to her own horror that her captors were dragging her towards it. She screamed underneath her attackers hands and bit them. They whipped away and she managed a quick "HELP!" before they were back in place.

"The filthy mudblood _bit_ me!" She heard one say angrily. The voice sounded slow and stupid, and Hermione instantly picked it as Goyle's.

"Just help me, would you? She's strong for a girl…" And there was Crabbe. But where was Malfoy, leering at her and calling her names? They were cutting off Hermione's air flow and she was beginning to feel faint. Tears were welling up in her eyes as she desperately fought against their hands, but she already knew that it was no use. They were going to push her into the way of the lethal branches and she was going to helpless against the onslaught. They would probably curse her anyway if she tried to get away. _And it's just because I'm a mudblood_, she reminded herself bitterly through her mind's approaching fog. The two Slytherins were preparing to throw her into the branches reach when she heard an almighty roar.

"Let. Her. GO!" And a red stream of light flew across the field, hitting Goyle on the side of the face behind her. She felt his hands leave their iron brace on her arms and she shot her own arm out at Crabbe, trying to break his hold on her. He tossed her aside like a toy and leapt towards her rescuer. Hermione landed heavily on the ground, the breath knocked out of her. Bursts of light appeared in front of her eyes and she gasped for air. She heard a creaking above her, and rolled to her left just as the enormous branch thunked into the ground where she had lain. She looked up to see a chaos of branches writhing in the air like enormous serpents, about to launch their assault on her. She scrambled out of the way as fast as she could, the twigs still managing to whip her in the face, slicing her across the cheek and neck. The electricity of curses was pulsing through the air as her captor and rescuer fought a lightning fast ballet of punches and spells. Crabbe and the rescuer were then within the willows reach, and their dangerous dance became still more precarious. Hermione saw that her rescuer seemed to have luck on his side, and was surprisingly nimble. He jumped several branches that swung towards him.

"How- Dare- You- Try- And- Hurt- Her!" her rescuer shouted between the ducking, weaving and casting of spells. His voice sounded familiar, but Hermione's scrambled brain was struggling to place it. Crabbe was knocked to his knees several times, but managed to upright himself before anything serious happened.

She saw her wand lying a few feet away from her, and although still winded she stood up in a low crouch and scurried towards it. She ducked the flashes of light flying helter-skelter across the field. The sickening crunch of fists hitting bone reached Hermione's ears and she looked up to see her rescuer doubled over, hands to his stomach and face hidden in shadows. She frantically picked up the pace, and she had hardly wrapped her hand around her wand when one of Crabbe's spells hit her full in the chest, flipping her up into the air and bringing her down hard on the ground. Her teeth smashed together and her ribs screamed in pain but she stood up and turned to the two, who were still fighting.

Goyle was just standing up now, and she turned towards him, yelling "stupefy!" at the top of her lungs. He cartwheeled through the air like a Fillibuster's Firework, hit the ground and didn't get up. She ran towards the two fighting, and screamed "Stupefy!" at the exact same time that her rescuer did. They both hit their mark and Crabbe shot away like a cannon ball, landing ten feet away on the ground. He rolled a few feet, then was still. Hermione staggered a few teetering steps towards her savior, but the fogginess in her head expanded like an Engorgio charm had hit it.

"Writer…" she said softly. She finally saw her daring rescuer's face, a bruise blossoming on his narrow cheek-bone. As she fell to the ground, soft darkness closing in around her, she saw the light-haired figure dart towards her, then there was nothing but warm bliss of darkness.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

"Hermione!" Malfoy called out as her eyes rolled back into her head. She swayed, crumpling in slow motion towards the ground like a dropped traveling cloak. He rushed towards her, arms wrapping around and catching her before she hit the damp grass. He sat down, pulling her into his lap and nursing her limp form in his arms. _Oh god, oh god, they killed her_, he thought over and over. _They killed her and it's all my fault…_

"Hermione, wake up, please, oh god, please don't be dead. You'll be fine, just wake up, please wake up…" His words barely a whisper as he rocked her back and forth gently. He brushed a strand of brown hair from her face, cupping her cheek with his hand. She had a long cut on the side of her face, a glistening slash of red against her pale skin, and a bruise was blossoming on her forehead. He hugged her to his chest and closed his eyes, whispering his constant stream of encouragement to just open her brown eyes. Such beautiful brown eyes… After a few minutes, he felt the gentlest of touches, and realized to his own surprise that her arms were slowly wrapping around him. He opened his eyes. She was returning his embrace, her head resting against his chest. Her breathing was slow and steady, and she nuzzled her head in closer to the warmth of his body. Malfoy thought his heart had stopped, he felt so complete. He didn't want to ruin this moment of perfection in his life. Yes, there were the unconscious bodies of his ex-friends strewn around him on the hill, and it was a bit cold, and it was getting dark very quickly, but that didn't matter. Hermione was embracing him, and that was it. Everything else might as well have dropped off the edge of the world, for all Draco could see was Hermione, and all he could hear was her light, constant breathing, and all he could feel was her arms around him. Her eyelids fluttered and Draco was struck by a disconcerting thought. _What if she doesn't know who it is she's hugging?_ This led on to wondering what reaction she would have if she _didn't_ know who it was.

"Hermione?" he asked her apprehensively, hoping to gauge from her reply.

"Yes, Draco?" she mumbled dreamily. Malfoy's heart leapt and he noted triumphantly that she didn't loosen her arms at all, even though she knew who he was.

"Are you alright?" he asked, leaning closer over her, eyes filled with concern.

"Could be worse," she said, "But you came, didn't you, Malfoy? Or should I call you Writer?"

She twisted her back so that she could look straight up at him. Brown eyes met grey. Hermione winced.

"Actually, I don't think I'm alright at all," she whispered, and Malfoy's head lurched. _Oh, god, what was wrong? Was it fatal? Would she DIE? _

"I think I might have a bruise on my lip. Can you see it?" He peered closer, his eyes raking across the fine curve of her mouth. Her hand wound its way into his fair hair and pulled his head down to meet hers. Malfoy was convinced that residual static from the spell-casting was still hanging around him. It was the only way to explain the zing that he felt through his spine as their lips touched. It was a soft and tender kiss, drawn out in a long moment.

"God, I've wanted to do that a while," he mumbled through their embrace, and he felt Hermione's lips smile against his own.

"You know what? Me too."

They both laughed. Hermione closed her eyes again and rested her head back on Malfoy's chest, and he looked around at the scene around him. He looked at the unconscious bodies of his ex-cronies turned enemies, who were groaning in their sorry, unconscious states.

"I must say," Hermione mumbled, "This really does explain quite a bit."

"I'm sure it does."

"Am I allowed to ask you a question? Or twenty?"

"Yes, but not right at this moment. Are you alright to stand?"

"I don't know. I still feel a little dizzy. I may need a little help."

"Okay, sure."

Malfoy helped her gently to her feet, trying to hide his own pains and battle wounds as he stood up. She was unsteady for a second or two, but eventually gained her balance. That didn't mean that Malfoy was going to remove his arm from around her waist, though.

"Uuuum, just out of interest, Hermione," he said whilst stroking his metaphorical beard, "what do you think we should do about Crabbe and Goyle?".

"Should we obliviate them or something?" she suggested seriously, prodding one of them with her foot. The downed attacker groaned but didn't move.

"That sounds like a plan. Can you cast a Memory charm?"

"Um, no, but I've read about them before."

"Not to worry, I've read about them too. Can't be too tricky, right?"

They tromped across the field, and Malfoy supported Hermione as she attempted the memory charm. First go nothing happened, but when she tried again a fine mist spread from her wand, coating Goyle's face then dissipating. His breathing eased and he appeared to be merely sleeping.

"Do you think that worked?" Hermione whispered.

"Well, in the standard book of spells, they said that one of the side effects of a memory charm was sound sleeping, so… yes?" His voice trailed off. She looked at him with what could only be described as surprised admiration. She shook herself and said,

"Right, well, I guess we ought to do Crabbe too."

"Of course."

They managed Crabbe first go, and then debated whether to leave them there or not. Malfoy was all for leaving the slimy mongrels exactly where they are, and it didn't take much convincing to get Hermione on his side. The sun had already sunk below the horizon by the time they headed up to the castle, arms around each other.

Things had not gone according to plan. Pansy had watched the whole event go down, and she had been very pleased with every aspect until Draco had shown up. His reaction had not been the one she had been after at all. He was meant to laugh at her hilarious joke and say something like,

"Serves you right, Mudblood!" Then stand jeering safely away from the branches of the tree. Of course, he was also meant to run to her and throw his arms around her, proclaiming his undying love for her and that he had seen the error of his ways, fraternizing with a filthy muggle-born. Things had definitely not gone according to plan, Pansy thought as she watched Malfoy lean down to kiss the mudblood. The omniocculars shattered as she squeezed them in her fingers. Her blood boiled and her face was flooded with a delicate shade of beetroot. She stormed up to the castle doors, leaving the two sitting alone on the hillside. She had seen more than enough for her liking. Draco was kissing a mudblood, and there was going to be hell to pay.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Hermione stopped them just before they reached the front doors of the castle and turned to face Draco.

"Listen," she said, looking into his eyes. "I don't know whether you realize this, but Harry and Ron are sort of like, I don't know… guard dogs, when it comes to me."

"Oh no, I already know that," he said, unable to keep the venom from seeping into his voice.

"And since Crabbe and Goyle won't remember the fight just then, or probably the entire week, they will still think that they are friends with you, so… what are we going to do? There will definitely be hell to pay from the Gryffindor side of things if it gets out that we're…"

"That we're together?" Malfoy finished the sentence for her. He knew that she wouldn't have known how he felt otherwise. She took a breath and continued.

"Yes, that we're together. Because of all this stupid pureblood nonsense, we won't be able to be seen together." Hermione actually seemed distressed over this matter. Malfoy was pleased. However, he couldn't think of a proper solution that didn't involve his own family disowning him and the Slytherins permanently spitting upon his name. But then he had a brainwave.

"Well… We could always be _sneaky_," he said, raising his eyebrows at her. She raised one of her own in return.

"Sneaky?" she enquired, "What do you mean?"

"Well… there's never really anyone in the library, and no Slytherins would _ever_ be caught dead there…" comprehension dawned upon her face.

"Ah. Well. That could work."

"Yes. Yes, it could." Draco smiled and Hermione smiled back. They turned to walk inside when Hermione suddenly stopped them both.

"Wait!" she said, turning back to Malfoy. She held his chin in one hand and swept his hair back into place with the other. The stray spells had knocked it about and he looked less than his usual preened self. She rubbed the dirt from his cheeks, and pulled a little jar from her pocket. She was close enough to Draco for him to smell her perfume, mixed in with the smell of grass stains on both their elbows and knees.

"You are very lucky that I made a healing cream for Potions homework, _Malfoy_." She said, dabbing the tiniest dollop of it onto his eyebrow. He hadn't even realized that it had been throbbing until the pain was gone.

"There," she said, inspecting her work. "At least you don't look like you were just in a fight." Draco smirked, and put his fingers through Hermione's hair.

"What?" She asked, holding perfectly still. Her eyes darted from side to side, as though she actually expected to be able to see whatever it was in her sizeable mass of hair.

"You have twigs in your hair," Draco said, plucking them gently from the clutches of her locks.

"Oh, of course. I probably look pretty bad too, don't I?"

"Not at all. In fact, I think that you look prettier with half of the Whomping willow sticking out of your hair." She smiled, and whacked him good-naturedly in the stomach. Malfoy gasped and his eyes widened in pain.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Hermione drew him back up to his regular height, attempting to hug the pain away. It didn't quite work.

" 's'alright," he wheezed. "Just a flesh wound."

"Let me see," she said, and quickly took the jar of ointment from Draco's hands. She lifted up his shirt and covered her mouth with her hand; an enormous angry bruise in a deep shade of magenta stretched across the lower right side of his chest, in line with his lowest rib.

"I think that you might have broken something," she said, looking up at his face in horror. She gently pressed her hand against it and he couldn't hold back his cry of pain. It was like someone had ran red-hot razorblades up his side.

"Yep, I definitely think it's broken." He said, his voice cracking with the pain. Hermione closed her eyes.

"Okay, okay," she whispered, and pulling out her wand, she splayed her hand out over the rib, and ignoring the sharp intake of breath from Malfoy, pointed her wand at her hand. Her lips moved but no sound came out, and Malfoy was aware of a warm tingling sensation in his chest. Hermione's brow furrowed, and then she opened her eyes, pressing her lips together and moving them no more. She stood back up and pulled his shirt down for him.

"I'll bet that you've wanted to do that your whole life, huh, Granger?" He flashed her a grin and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, grow up, Malfoy." She said with a smile. He took the little pot from her hands and gently dabbed the healing ointment onto Hermione's own cuts. He watched in awe as they healed immediately.

"You really are the brightest witch our age," he said to her, and she positively beamed.

"Meet you in the library after dinner?" she asked hopefully as they finally headed indoors.

"Of course," he said. Then his face darkened as he remembered. Pansy.

"After I deal with someone first."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Malfoy had no idea how he was going to do this. What on earth was he going to say to her? Now that he thought about it, Pansy must have been around the Whomping Willow somewhere, so that she could watch the action go down. She would have seen the whole thing. Maybe when she saw it was going bad though she'd left. But how far into the fiasco did she see? He was probably going to have to do some fishing for facts with her. Even if she hadn't seen the whole spectacle, how was he going to convince her that he didn't like Hermione and was still a pureblood fanatic? He most certainly wasn't a fanatic, of course; the pureblood extremism shown at the Whomping Willow by his peers was enough to quell any doubts he had been harboring. He could always attempt a memory charm on her, but that seemed a little conspicuous to him. He could tell her it was just a game he was playing, to see if he could trick the mudblood into liking him, but that seemed risky. What if Pansy told someone? No, that plan was way too risky. But, as he could think of no other real option (throwing her to the whomping willow himself wasn't really an option) he would have to try it. He entered the grand Hall and headed across to the Slytherin table. Most of the people had already eaten and left, but Malfoy could see Pansy sitting at the end of the table by herself, fists clenching and unclenching as she viciously stirred her soup. He took a deep breath, mustered up his courage and sat down beside her.

"Hey," he said. Pansy didn't look up from her meal. He leant in close to her.

"So, you found out my secret, did you?" She paused, and put down her fork. Before she could speak he butted in,

"It's brilliant, isn't it?" This threw her off guard. She narrowed her eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you get it? It was all a trick. I've been trying to see if I could win the mudblood's affections for a joke. It was working, until that little stunt you decided to pull with the Whomping willow." This was a test to see how much Pansy had seen.

"What? What do you mean? I saw you two up there, snogging your bloody guts out-" oh. So she saw that. Malfoy thought fast.

"But did you see what happened next?" He asked, hoping to get an opening here for his lie.

"NO!" she cried indignantly, drawing the stares of several Ravenclaws from the neighbouring table.

"No," she hissed again, "I decided to leave you to your filthy mudblood. I hope you catch a disease or something!"

"Well, you missed the best bit," he said. "I couldn't keep up the act, and I burst out laughing. I told her exactly what had been happening, and she slapped me and stalked off! Can you believe it?" Pansy eyed him suspiciously, and then a smile slowly cracked across her piggy features.

"Seriously? She slapped you?"

"YES!" he cried. "And it really HURT!"

Pansy laughed out loud. Malfoy saw out of the corner of his eye Hermione entering the room, walking quickly over to her friends at Gryffindor table. Undoubtedly she would give them some excuse about a Herbology essay or something and her friends would just accept it.

"So you're not going to be hanging out in the library anymore?" Pansy asked, dipping back into her soup. Malfoy hesitated.

"Well, I'll probably have to stay there for a little while, you know, because of study and stuff, and Professor Binns keeps on giving me extra work…"

Pansy eyed him dubiously.

"But I'll be hanging out in Slytherin more often now." He rushed on, "Now that I don't have to keep up the bookworm act anymore, that is." Pansy nodded. This seemed good enough for her. She finished her meal, and with a smile at Malfoy and a touch of the arm headed out of the Hall to Slytherin house.

"See you there?" she called back at him.

"Of course, as soon as I'm done." He said, smiling until the entrance doors closed behind her. He then pushed back his chair, picked up his satchel and a thick piece of buttered bread and wound his way out of the dining room. He caught the eye of Hermione and winked at her just before pushing open the doors and heading straight up to the library to wait. _Hook, line and sinker_.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hermione was curled up in her armchair as always, legs swung over the side and head on the opposite armrest. One hand was holding open the page, the other slowly running through Malfoy's hair as he sat on the floor next to her. They sat in silence, the slow rhythm of the turning pages and the warm light of the floating candles lulling Malfoy to sleep. His head slowly tilted back to rest against the chair, eyes closing. Hermione looked down at him. It was a week since the Whomping Willow incident and she still couldn't believe that this was her Writer… yet at the same time, the more Hermione thought about it, she more she realised she would have been disappointed if it had been anyone else. Sure, it was weird discovering that her opinion about someone had been entirely wrong, but technically, she hadn't been wrong, it was just that the person had changed and her opinion had been forced to follow suit. It was also just a really nice thing to know that the only textbook-style bully she had ever had to put up with would never tease her again.

On that first true night they had both talked for ages, and Hermione had quizzed him about his true opinions on the pure-blood mud-blood debate. He explained how his entire life, he had been fed pure-blood twaddle by his parents and had never sought out any other explanation. Until this year, he had never taken any opportunities to shell out his own opinions, just accepting the opinions of others as his own. Until the letters. He explained that without Hermione and her knowledge of the Muggle world, he would have probably lived the rest of his life as a paranoid blood-fanatic. Hermione of course thought that he was a bit of an idiot, but then again, would she have believed that there was a world filled with wizards and witches, right in the middle of London, before she had been sent her Hogwarts letter? Of course not. She had never felt the need to seek out any alternative answers to the world she lived in. The conversation had drifted, and they had discussed the problem of keeping up their friendships with other people, and not causing a stir with others. Hermione understood that Malfoy would be disowned by his family if they, or anyone else, found out about his newfound relationship with someone of less-than-pure blood lineage. She knew that getting disowned was _definitely_ not a viable option, especially for a young wizard still in school. They juggled the idea of spending alternate nights in their common rooms and in the library, and finally settled on a three for every four nights in the library ratio so as not to arouse suspicion.

Draco had also told Hermione about Pansy, and how he had been forced to lie to her. Not that it mattered too much to Draco, but it was just annoying to have to keep up so many lies. At least the largest one he had ever had was now shared with another person.

They would not be able to sit together in class, or even really talk to each other, or people might start talking, and suspecting.

And so there they were, just sitting together, reading in peace. They had talked a while, but both Malfoy and Hermione had homework to do, so they had helped each other (a refreshing change to the usual "Hermioneeeeee, will you pleeease just write it for me?" of her Gryffindor peers) and then returned to the books they had been reading. Of course, every now and then they lost concentration, and it was one such occasion that Hermione made Malfoy start, and his quill shot across the page leaving blots of ink everywhere. She had just traced her toes up Malfoy's leg from across the study table, staring at him from under her eyelashes with a cheeky little smile playing across her features. He had stared at her, confused for a second, then realized that she had done it on purpose, and replied in kind by slipping off his own shoes and rubbing his own foot up and down her calf. Hermione laughed at him, and stood up. Draco followed and in a secluded corner of the restricted section Hermione suddenly turned and grasped Draco by the neck, nearly toppling him over as they embraced. Books fell from the shelves and dust clouds swirled in the afternoon sun as Draco and Hermione kissed and laughed their way in turn through the majority of the afternoon, startling a rather disgruntled third year who walked in on them and consequently had to be stupefied.

And that brought them to that night, on which Hermione and Draco sat up together, the candles dripping wax onto the floor as they read their way towards midnight. Hermione felt Draco start beneath her hand, and laughed quietly to herself.

"Did I just fall asleep?" he mumbled, tilting his head backwards and into her lap to look at her. She had never noticed before then just how big his eyes were…

"You most certainly did." She replied whilst meeting his gaze, her hand wandering down his neck. He smiled, and she half-expected him to start purring like her cat. She wondered whther ferrets purr. It was very late, and they had hidden in a corner of the library when the fussy librarian came around to send them off to bed. Draco stretched, and started to stand up.

"Come on," he said, tugging her book gently from her grasp, "It's time to go to bed."

Hermione didn't argue. Blowing out the candles, they illuminated their wands and snuck towards the door of the library. They stopped just outside it, and Malfoy leaned in close, pinning Hermione against the wall.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he whispered, pressing his hand to her cheek and kissing her. Hermione's heart went a-flutter. She loved it when he kissed her. She felt dizzy and pulled away, smiling in the darkness.

"Goodnight, Draco," she said, and with some disappointment they parted ways. Hermione's dreams were filled with shades of silver and green, and the soft touch of Draco's lips to her cheek.


	23. Chapter 23

***AUTHOR'S NOTE*** Thankyou to all of my readers and reviewers! I hope that you all like this next chapter, and I'm sorry i took so long in updating! Will be quicker next chapter, promise! :)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Those were, Draco decided, the best weeks of his life. The exams came around and Draco and Hermione didn't speak to each other during study classes, instead passing stolen glances to each other when no one was looking. Malfoy hung out with his oafish cronies and Hermione with Potter and Weasel, but Draco didn't find any of them so hard to cope with them any more. He felt a renewal in his patience, knowing that after school he would get to feel the sweet embrace of Hermione, get to breathe in the gentle aroma of her muggle perfume (God bless Muggles) and listen to her warm voice talking to him about life in the muggle world or something interesting that she had read about in an obscure book. They had quickly figured out that every second night in the library was just not enough, and often Draco had Quidditch practice and they both had their prefect duties to deal with. That is, they had all of this during schooling hours. Every night, once everyone else had gone to bed, Hermione and Draco lit their wands and scampered through the hallways of Hogwarts. They met up, of course, in the empty shadows and candle-lit corners of the library, where they occupied each other's minds for those all-too-short moments. And they did some reading, of course.

Occasionally after class, Draco would wait in the shadows behind a column he knew she would pass, and as she did would whisk her behind it for a brief stolen kiss. There was a particular exhilaration to it like nothing he had felt before. No one ever saw them; they were both extra careful about that. If Ron or Harry was going to be in the library that afternoon, Hermione would pass a note to Draco as she breezed by him, and they would just go to a disused classroom instead. Each afternoon, Malfoy would wile away his time in the Slytherin house, enduring long monologues by Pansy about her ever-so-interesting life. Those were by far some of the longest hours Draco had ever had to endure. But he would remind himself over and over that he would have a whole three Pansy-free hours very soon, and would feel content then with her incessant jabbering.

Hermione had a spring in her step. She was excelling in her academics, her friends were being slightly more bearable at that moment, and she had the constant upside of spending her afternoons in her favorite place of all, with her favorite person of all. Hermione was loving nearly every second of her life at the moment, and it was all thanks to a single book that had found it's way into a single pair of hands. _And thank Wizard God it did_, Hermione thought to herself on her way past the one-eyed witch. She knew that she would be absolutely miserable right now if it weren't for that book. She turned into the corridor they were going to meet in; Draco wasn't there yet. The leaves were green and fresh on the trees outside, and the wind brought with it a replenishing warmth. The end of the year was so near Hermione could almost touch it if she spread out her fingers and reached.

Hermione hid in the shadows of a column opposite the library doors and waited. She heard the tentative footsteps coming closer, and just as she heard the rustle of his robes next to the old witch she whipped out her hand and grabbed a silver-and-green scarf. His startled yelp was immediately muffled by their kiss, which was long and rather hilarious to Hermione. He had been constantly catching her unawares over the last week (not that she had minded) and Hermione had thought it was high-time to give him a taste of his own medicine. His hands trailed up her back as he returned the kiss, and Hermione felt butterflies inside her stomach. If she could have bottled that moment, that single moment up, she would have kept it for those rainy days when even a good book couldn't lift her spirits.

"Well done," he muttered admiringly. They pulled their lips apart and Draco rested his forehead against hers. "Looks like I'll have to up the anti. Can't have my girlfriend out-doing me on the surprises." Hermione laughed and she threw her arms around his neck. She squealed and quickly covered her mouth; Draco had swept her up and was carrying her determinedly towards the library doors. It was dark, and the library was empty and closed but they lit their candles and hand-in-hand Draco and Hermione pulled his chair out of it's dank corner and placed it next to Hermione's.

Surprisingly, Draco's addition to her life had not impaired Hermione's reading habits. In fact, quite the contrary. She had found to her own surprise that she read nearly twice as fast and seemed to retain more information when he was with her. She mentioned this to him that night, just as she finished another book on the Practical Uses of Patronuses. He looked up and sniggered.

"I guess that I'm just not trying hard enough to distract you," he had said with an evil smile, and when she had protested he laughed and cut her off by leaning straight across the gap in their chairs and planting yet another kiss upon her slightly indignant (but secretly euphoric) self. _Yes, life is definitely fine-sailing at the moment_, Hermione had thought dreamily, and she hoped that it would stay like that.


	24. Chapter 24

***Author's Note: None of the characters belong to me, they're all J.K. Rowling's, yada yada yada. The dialogue in the abandoned classroom quoted directly from the book.***

Chapter Twenty-Four

But nothing ever lasts. Summer never lasts, exams never last, life itself never lasts….

It was the last exam of all, and Draco was sitting at the back of the Great Hall. His pale hair was plastered to his scalp from the heat of the afternoon, and his ears were filled with the sound of scratching quills on paper. Golden sunlight fell splendidly through the tall windows and motes of dust could be seen swirling and eddying through the air. Draco would never have been watching them move and pirouette across the blue-skied ceiling, NEVER, nor would he have been gazing nonchalantly around the room, having finished the exam easily within the first half an hour. Not at all, he would have been thoroughly reading over and rereading all of his answers, just like Hermione, who was three seats in front of him and hunched over her essays as though the fate of the universe depended on them. Draco smiled as he watched her dip her quill in erasing ink and violently scratch across an entire line of her page.

His mind wandered to the evening they would be spending together in the library in celebration of the end of examinations. He had actually managed to sneak out of the school over the weekend and make his way to Hogsmeade under 'special circumstances'. As he sat in the Hall, a bead of sweat balancing precariously on the tip of his nose, he hoped that he had provided enough water to prevent the splendid bouquet of dark red roses sitting in his locker from wilting. He also hoped that no one had seen him the day before last sneaking a little box into his pocket whilst the Inquisitorial Squad was searching through other people's mail. He hoped that they hadn't noticed that it was his own mail he was sneaking away, and that they hadn't seen the silvery bracelet chain disappear into his pocket as the lid slipped off in his hand.

His ears pricked up and he was distracted from his train of thought when a loud, pained groan filled the hall. The stifling air around him seemed to stir as the other fifth years looked up from their work. Another groan filled the hall, turning into a whine and gasping for air. Draco could hear whispering, and located the back of the person omitting such desperate sounds. Swaying in his chair, his raven hair glistening in the golden sunshine, Potter gave one last agonized cry before keeling over and sprawling upon the floor. Everything sped up; several girls screamed; teachers ran forwards, and Draco saw the heads of both Hermione and Weaselbee as they rushed towards their fallen friend. Loud talking and panicked movement filled the hall. Professor Flitwick magnified his feathery voice, attempting to calm the students whilst also evacuating Potter from the sweltering hot hall. A small congregation of both teachers and a few students hurried up the aisle where Draco was seated, and as they passed he could just see the levitated and immobile body of Potter, his head lolling about and limbs dragging along like a puppet with its strings cut. Draco almost would have laughed if it didn't look so disturbing. Hermione was the last of the people to pass him, and Draco looked into her eyes as she approached. She smiled at him, but Draco could see that there was a distance in her brown eyes that indicated worry. He felt her feather-light fingertips brush the back of his own clammy left hand and then she was gone. The doors shut behind them and everyone sat back down in their seats and the stifling silence fell around them once more.

Draco finished his exam and barely restrained himself from bolting from the hall to find Hermione. As little as he thought of Potter, it was obvious that Hermione had been rather concerned and probably needed some comfort. And Wizard God help him if the only person around to give her what she needed was Weasel…. He suppressed his thoughts when he heard raised voices coming from a classroom nearby. He could have sworn it was Hermione, talking quietly but forcefully…

"-Look, I'm sorry, but neither of you is making any sense, and we've got no proof Voldemort and Sirius are even there-"

"Hermione, Harry's seen them!" _Yep, Hermione is definitely in there_. Draco pressed his eye up against the keyhole. He could just see Hermione's arms crossed upon her chest, and Potter was leaning against a desk. It was Ron who had just spoken. He sounded frustrated. In fact, from what little he could see of each of them, they all seemed extremely at ends with each other. He must have entered the conversation halfway through or something. The conversation escalated, but none of it made sense to Draco. They kept referencing this Sirius person… _Was it Sirius Black they were talking about? But no one had spotted him for months, _Draco thought. And Harry kept on yelling that he'd SEEN it, he'd SEEN them and that Sirius was going to die. Then there was something about playing the hero, and it was Hermione talking, and Draco sniggered. _Too right_, he thought. _Stupid attention-seeker. You tell him, Hermione_. He saw Harry move forwards violently, right in front of Hermione, and Draco stood up. He was just about to burst in and stupefy Potter when Draco suddenly heard footsteps behind him, recognizing the voices of the other Weasel girl and the airy-fairy loon with the vegetable earrings. He pried himself away from the keyhole and dashed behind a column just as they stopped and pushed open the door. It was swung shut behind him and the voices dropped down from yelling to an angry hush. Draco tentatively approached the door again after ten minutes or so, but it opened and eh pressed himself against the column just as they all trooped out of there. His heart hammered in his chest; what on earth would a bunch of Gryffindors do to a snooping Slytherin, head of the Inquisitorial Squad, no less? He dared a glance around the corner. Hermione, by some luck of the founders, had been the last out, and was standing in front of the classroom door, looking harassed and weary. She was alone. He stepped out from behind the column and she jumped, her wand whipping out and aiming at him and her eyes suddenly filled with determination. When she realized who it was, she lowered her wand and looked around, then fell into his arms. It was all he could do to catch her as she clung on to him. He wrapped is arms tightly around her, his shoulders curving to fit and attempted in vain to shield her from all of her troubles, to take them upon himself instead. He rested his cheek upon the top of her head, and whispered to her,

"What's wrong?" her shoulders shook a little.

"Oh, Draco," she answered, wiggling to somehow get even closer to him. "I'm scared. I don't know what you heard from out here, or if you heard anything at all, but Harry's friend is in danger, he thinks, but he can't prove it, and now he wants to break to break into the office of the most horrid woman in all of the planet, and THEN he wants to break into the bloody ministry of magic…." She clutched herself to his chest, and took a deep shuddering breath. Draco was absolutely astounded.

"Bloody hell…. Is that all?" Was all he could say, and he felt Hermione move as she laughed a little.

"I know, I know, it all sounds so easy doesn't it? And the worst part is… oh, it's all bad. There's no worst part. Why do I have to have such a difficult life?"

"Well, you know, I think it comes with the red and gold, darling," he said seriously. She laughed a little more and shifted her head to look up at him. Her face was, miraculously, not spattered with tears, but she wore a weary and watery smile upon her features. Draco actually thought to himself, _Good grief, if that was me, I'd be a blithering mess… It would take them weeks to clean me up off the floor_.

"Is there anything I can do to help you? Make it easier?" he asked her gently, one hand cupping her cheek. She looked down at his green and silver tie, and tightened it up around his neck like a tiny noose.

"You know, Draco Dearest, my fluffy little ferret…" she began, using her sarcastic pet name for him. It had started after they had been talking about the sickening relationship between Won-Won and Lav-Lav, and they had been rolling about in hysterics on one of those long library nights.

"There is something you could do, when we need to break into Umbridge's office… you are after all, the leader of the Squad…"

"You want me to keep the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad away? God, Hermione, that was already a given. You're the very reason that I joined the squad, you know that?"

"Really?"

"Of course! How else was I meant to keep Potter's little club from being found out for so long? Oh, don't look so shocked, my darling, you have no idea how many times I kept you from being found out, and let me tell you it wasn't easy-" She cut him off with a kiss that made Malfoy fall against the column behind him. She pressed hard against him, her lips desperate, searching, and longing at the same time. Draco hoped beyond hope that she found what she was looking for in him. She pulled away, staring into his eyes, and him staring back. She blinked, and Draco noticed the deep sadness within them. She said, softly,

"Thank you, Draco. For everything." Then she turned and ran down the hallway, and Draco watched her leave. He didn't realize, could never have realized, even dreamed that from that moment on everyone's lives were going to change.

***COMMENT PLEASE***


	25. Chapter 25

***A.N. Thankyou to everyone who is reading my story! Ih ope that you are enjoying reading it as much as i have enjoyed writing it! The end is nigh, so hold in there!***

Chapter Twenty-Five

Draco hurried along a second floor corridor towards where he hoped he would find Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle. They had mentioned before lunch that they were going to be up there defacing the stone busts lining the halls, drawing moustaches on them and whatnot. He was planning on deterring, and leading them up to the astronomy tower under the pretence that there was an illegal group meeting up there. He had just prepared what he was going to say when he rounded a corner and stopped in horror.

Right in front of him, standing there and grinning in a deranged fashion was Umbridge, triumphantly towering her unimpressive height over the top of Weasel, who was being sat on by Crabbe whilst Pansy tied his hands. The red-head Gryffindor was turning purple under the sheer force that was Crabbe's weight, and Malfoy couldn't help but feel a twinge of triumph and, oddly, sympathy. Malfoy prayed that he would never be in Weasel's position, at least not with gravity acting in the way that it currently was. His initial shock at the scene was quickly and smoothly wiped from his face and Umbridge noticed him.

"Ah, Draco! You are just in time! I am so glad to see you. Come, look here." He smiled at the loathsome woman and approached the conundrums on the ground. He was convinced that Umbridge would be able to hear his heart pounding, but she didn't, merely giggling in her nauseating way and 'tsk'ing at the ginger.

"This unfortunate child attempted to lie to me. It seems he was trying to distract me from some misdoings going on in the castle, most likely in my office." Malfoy wondered at the horrid woman's intuition. How _on earth could she know?_ He thought, panic threatening to take over where his calculating self was stepping down. He willed himself not to run and find Hermione immediately, trying to reason with himself. _That would only do more harm than good, _he Umbridge's hunches bordered on paranoia, but right at that moment they were unnervingly bang on the dot. Malfoy's stomach turned to ice as she continued on, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on keeping his legs from moving.

"It is obvious that the mudblood Granger is involved in this. She and Weasel are always skulking about with Potter. I am making it your duty to capture her, along with anyone who is helping them and bring them immediately to me. You have my permission to use Unforgiveables if it comes to the worst. The ministry will understand, I assure you."

She turned and the other Slytherins trotted down the hall after her, and Draco had nothing to do but follow. Pansy came up beside him and whispered,

"We finally get to give that little mudblood exactly what she deserves, don't we, Draco?"

Draco said nothing. What you think she deserves is probably very different to me, he thought through his gritted teeth, thinking of his roses and the silver bracelet bouncing around in his pocket. He could only hope blindly that Hermione and her idiotic friends were already cleared out and gone from Umbridge's office by the time they arrived. It had all taken a sharp turn for the worse, and Draco noted to his own horror that he had absolutely no control of the situation.

"Hurry up, Harry!" Hermione could hear footsteps coming, and knew that not everything had gone according to plan. She looked desperately between the door and Harry's doubled over figure in the fireplace, disconcertingly missing it's head. He was surrounded by green flames.

"Come on, come on, come on," she hopped from foot to foot and felt like she would burst from the tension. When the door exploded open and Slytherins began pouring into the room, Hermione was ready with her wand and managed a few well-aimed hexes at both Crabbe and Pansy. She twirled around in the close quarters and kicked Goyle in the shins, causing him to cry out, and then spun to face an oncoming Pansy when she saw it and everything moved in slow motion; Pansy's face lit up in cruel triumph as a glittering spell shot straight at Hermione; a familiar yell from her left; screaming from Umbridge. Then before she could even register who's voice it was yelling she was suddenly flattened upon the pink shagpile carpet.

For a few moments Hermione was stunned, her brain steadfastly refusing to click back into gear. Only when the person on top of her had whispered into her ear,

"I couldn't stop them," and then moved away did she realize she had been saved, yet again, by Draco Malfoy. Beefy arms lifted her roughly into the air, and much to Hermione's surprise and hilarity she found out that the manly arms belonged to Millicent Bulstrode. She had to stifle back laughter as the brutish girl pinned her against a wall, more gorilla-turned-bodybuilder than anything else. But, she realized that she ought to play along, and placed a frown upon her face, attempting to fight the girl away. The Slytherins brought in their captives; Luna, Ginny, Ron and, surprisingly, Neville. _How on earth did he get here_? Hermione wondered, but cleared the thought. There were slightly more pressing matters at hand.

Harry's head was dragged out of the fireplace by the toad-woman and she wildly began questioning him. It was only when she raised her wand, eyes wide and muttering incoherently about Unforgivables that Hermione realized everything had gone too far. Suddenly, without any warning to the others, she shouted,

"FINE! I'll _TELL YOU_!" and buried her face within her hands. She conjured up some sobs that would have won muggle movie awards. Peering out from underneath her hand, she saw the stunned and revolted looks from her friends, but that wasn't what drew her attention. It was the wide-eyed, terrified face of Draco that she couldn't remove her eyes from. She could see, etched plainly on his face, the deep internal struggle he was having at that moment. Reveal himself and probably get hexed into oblivion by every member of the room in an attempt to comfort her, or play the game, save her as soon as possible. She could see from his eyes, as they began to harden with determination, that he had decided to take option one. Hermione needed to send him a message somehow, to tell him not to. She lifted her face slightly, and their eyes snapped together like magnets. She stared, he stared, and then she gave the tiniest wink, and his eyes widened in understanding. Satisfied, Hermione let out yet another almighty sob, and Millicent dropped her to the ground like a burst Stinksap pod. _Now, I need to play this carefully_, she thought to herself as Umbridge closed in on her, talking to her in the most vile caricature of motherliness that Hermione almost gagged. For some odd reason, the first lie that popped into her head was of a weapon in the Forbidden Forest, created by Dumbledore. It was a risky move; the centaur's in there were very restless at the moment, due in part to the presence of Grawp in their territory and the efforts of Umbridge herself to have them classed as animals. Hermione decided to risk it anyway. It was the only way to get everyone out of there without being tortured or maimed. Taking a shuddery breath, Hermioen began weaving her weepy lie. Umbridge's dull eyes lit up with glee and she shook with excitement at the words Hermione spoke.

"Take me to this weapon, girl," Umbridge said, and Hermione wailed.

"You don't really want me to show it to them, do you? ( she shot a death glare at the Slytherins around her) Fine! Lets take the whole school down, and show them how it works, so that if you ever annoy any of them they can use it on you! It would serve you right, too!"

That served Hermione well; Umbridge suddenly gave a furtive sweeping of the room, her eyes resting upon Draco for a fraction of a second. She saw a look on his face of pride, pride in Hermione for concocting such a lie. It seemed that Umbridge misinterpreted this look as excitement or even greed, for she then said,

"Fine, it'll just be you, me and potter taking a little walk in the forest. Does that sound alright?" Hermione nodded. And now we're good to go, Hermione thought, and she and Harry were led out of the office at wandpoint and down towards the depths of the forbidden forest.

*** A.N. cough cough I really love reviews, people. :) ***


	26. Chapter 26

*** A.N. Thankyou everyone for your reviews! And for reading my story in the first place! This chapter was churned out in a fit of inspiration; hope it lives up to your standards!***

Chapter Twenty Six

Draco watched them disappear out of the door with a strangely calm and organized disposition. The fluffy pink trim of Umbridge's robes disappeared around the doorframe, and Malfoy was ready for the sudden explosion of movement and light. Spells flew around the room, and Draco's dimwitted cronies were no match for the former D.A. members. The Longbottom boy leapt at Draco and he merely sidestepped him. He sprawled upon the shagpile monstrosity coating the floor like bubblegum and Draco knelt down. He thrust both Harry's and Hermione's wand into the boy's hands and whispered urgently to him,

"Take them. Give them back. And if you break Granger's, I'll have your head." Then Draco skirted around the edge of the chaotic room and broke out into a run. He had no idea what Umbridge might do in that forest when she discovered she'd led there under false pretences. And especially to two defenseless, wandless students. He was surprised at how level-headed and calm he remained, plotting out his next move as he barnied down the hallways and shifting staircases.

_Must be Granger's influence on me_, Draco thought with a fleeting smile, but soon forgot about. All he had room in his head for was Hermione, and making sure that she was still in her single stunning piece when he got there.

Draco still felt a little twinge of fear as he stepped from the golden mid-afternoon light into the shadows of the trees. The temperature dropped rapidly and he shivered, but held his wand at the ready and proceeded. _This shouldn't be too hard,_ he thought as he tramped through the underbrush, following a recently trodden path. The trees whispered and muttered above him as the wind blew, and Draco kept his eyes peeled for any sign of movement. He was walking for quite a while, when he became aware of voices from ahead, and the distant sound of… hooves. Thinking quickly, he took a wide berth of the area where the talkers were, coming to rest by a hollow tree, riddled with little holes to the outside. Draco darted inside lest anyone should see, and peered out of one the peepholes onto a clearing. In it stood at least twenty centaurs, with their bows and arrows drawn and at the ready. One, a large silver male, was holding a squealing and cursing Umbridge up by her hair.

"Filthy halfbreed!" she screamed at them, and Draco gasped. The centaurs, enraged beyond description, howled and rode off with her in their midst, kicking up dirt and dust everywhere. _Where's Hermione? And Potter?_ Draco thought his heart had stopped. The dust cleared and he could see two indistinct forms standing up slowly. Hermione was brushing off her robes, which were torn at the sleeve. She had a small cut across her right cheek but was otherwise alright. _Nothing that a little of that ointment can't fix_, Draco thought. He hadn't realized that he was holding his breath, and closed his eyes for a moment to allow his now-working heart to catch up.

When he felt alright he pressed his eye to the hole again, and there were more people congregated in the clearing. _Huh_, Draco thought, _they must have beaten all of the Slytherins_. For some odd reason, he was internally cheering for these… rebels, these troublemakers of the school. He didn't realize it, and they didn't realize it, but he'd sort of unwittingly switched sides. He could hear murmurs of their conversation, brief catches of their words. It seemed that they were going to go somewhere, probably the ministry, because someone was being hurt there. Hermione kept trying to tell them it might be a trap, and that they shouldn't go, but the rest of the group drowned her out. _Don't these people realize that Hermione is the brightest person in our year? _He thought. _Don't they know that if Hermione says something, she means it, and is usually right_? Draco had been standing for a long time, peering through the hole, and his knees were starting to hurt. He was also becoming worried. If Hermione was right and it was a trap for Potter, then someone was probably going to get hurt. Killed, even.

Someone (probably Potter) said something with a decisive tone, and Draco watched as Longbottom, the Looney girl and Hermione headed his way, apparently to find something. It was starting to get dark, and the people who remained in the clearing grew dark and fuzzy. Someone had brought along brooms but not nearly enough for all of them, and it seemed that those three were looking for an alternative mode of transport. They walked right by his tree, the Looney one making odd cawing noises like a crow. A second miracle was granted to Draco at that moment, because Hermione was walking at the back of the group, wand down, and far enough away from the others that she wouldn't be seen. He quickly jumped out from his spot and clamped a hand over Hermione's mouth and the other he wound gently but firmly over her wand hand (with wand returned and still intact), stopping her from hurting him unknowingly.

She let out a muffled yell but quickly stopped when she realized she was being hugged in familiar arms. They squeezed her tightly to his chest, and Hermione squinted up through the incoming darkness at the face that knew her better than anyone else.

"Draco, what are you doing here-?"

"Don't go," he said, his voice cracking as he said it. Much to his own horror, his eyes were going blurry and his throat felt tight and dry.

"Please, Hermione, don't go, what if something happens to you, I could never forgive myself, let's just sneak back up to the castle now, no one will ever have to know-" Hermione pressed a finger to his lips and he stopped and closed his eyes. He tried to soak up the feeling of her finger, smooth and warm, brushing lightly like the wings of a will o' the wisp upon his lips. Just in case he should never feel it again.

"Draco," she said softly, looking up at him with those big brown eyes. The very last ray of sunlight bounced of her eyes and then they were left in the blue semi-darkness of twilight.

"You know that can never happen. You may not forgive yourself if I get hurt, but I wouldn't forgive myself if Harry or Ron- yes, Ron-" she said to what she knew was a dubious look being cast at her, "were to be hurt. You know what they're like, and for all of their faults they're okay, really. But Ron is totally incompetent, and his little sister and her friend want to tag along. Even if we were just flying over to the Quidditch Pitch I'd feel uneasy about leaving them alone, let alone… where we're going. Draco, I'm sorry. I hope you can understand…" He enveloped her within his cloak as he hugged her even closer, burying his face in her hair. He hoped that she couldn't feel the little drops of water that were slowly falling into her bushy locks. He felt like the biggest girl in the world, like his entire being were in fact made of green muggle jelly, the kind that wobbles and jiggles haphazardly all over the place with the slightest bump. He felt a little numb as she pulled away gently.

"I understand, Hermione." He whispered, a bittersweet smile shakily mustering its courage and spreading across his lips, his cheeks and even slowly up to his eyes. He was gaining his night eyes as they stood there, and he could see Hermione smiling back. There was something building inside of Draco, a need to say something, an urge to speak that built like a tsunami, but he didn't know what…She kissed him on the cheek, where a glistening tear had been sitting, accusingly laying testimony to his girlish jelly-soul.

"I should go. They'll wonder where I am." She said, and for the second (and last time that day) she turned and walked away from Draco. She disappeared off into the near-darkness, and the words that he'd meant to say burst into his mind like an epiphany. They caught him so much by surprise that they actually burst forth in a literal sense.

"I love you," he whispered, just that little bit too late.

*** A.N. Once again, my wonderful audience, i love reviews wink :) ***


	27. Chapter 27

*** A.N. I am really churning out the chapters today! :) Just a short one, but i hope a good one.***

Chapter Twenty Seven

Draco couldn't sleep. When Hermione had walked away into the forest, he had returned stealthily to the castle and gone about the evening as though nothing had happened. He joined his fellow Slytherins, quickly telling the Squad members at the table a well thought out lie. He told them that he'd rushed out of the fight to try and get Umbridge back to punish the D.A. members but had been stunned on the way down a corridor and had been unable to move for hours. As they were not particularly bright, they all bought it, and some even gave him sympathy. With is appetite having gone on vacation, Draco was forced to eat despite the tight knot inside his abdomen. _Stupid outward appearances_, he thought mutinously as he tried to trick himself into having another mouthful of shepherds pie. His eyes kept tracking along the length of the Gryffindor table, hoping in vain to find the bobbing head of Hermione. Every time he did so he ground his teeth in frustration at himself, and as punishment took another bite of food. He had adjourned to bed early, hoping that he could pass the hours more quickly by slipping into dreams. But oh, no, it wasn't that easy. He lay in his bed until everyone else was asleep and he could hear their steady breathing, but when even counting the knots in the wooden ceiling didn't lull him to sleep he decided to give up and wander about.

Umbridge was still missing and so was Filch, having disappeared into the Forest to search for her, leaving Draco completely unhindered as he wandered the empty corridors. He avoided a Peeves-infested hallway thanks to advice from a nearby portrait. Everything was dark and silent. There was little in the darkened hallways to distract him. He kept getting flashes, horrible flashes, of what might be happening to Hermione. Some were so vivid that he thought that they might even be real. Hermione, body splayed and broken upon the ground, a dark red pool gathering around her head where she had fallen from her broom, or whatever it was that she was riding; hit in the chest by a ministry member's unforgivable; hit in the chest by a _deatheater's_ unforgiveable; floating brains latching on to her arms and burning her skin… it was like a never-ending cinema reel of dead Hermione after dead Hermione. He groaned, leaning himself heavily up against a wall and pressing his arm hard against his eyes, in what seemed to be an attempt to squeeze the images and emotion from his head. _I'm a Slytherin, this isn't a natural thing for me, help me out here,_ he pleaded with his identity to provide some sort of rest from his tortured state. He took several deep breaths to try and calm himself down, and finally, on shaky legs, he headed up towards the place where he felt closest to Hermione.

Draco pushed open the library doors, cringing at their alarm-like shrieking. His feet were bare against the near-Summer heat of the inside and outside of the castle, and gently padded through the stacks of books that were Hermione's true home. He finally came to her place, her home of home's. He had never actually sat in the Spot. She had always been occupying it when he was around, always buried in her treasured tomes and volumes, always laughing at him, always watching out the window, her neck stretched out gracefully… He stared at her overstuffed armchair, worn red upholstery stretched invitingly. It spoke of long afternoons in the golden sun, of comfort and safety. Draco blinked once at it, convinced for a second that he saw Hermione there, then sat down. He was instantly surrounded with the scent of Hermione, of Spearmint and strawberries and chocolate and parchment and somehow all of the smells combined made him think of the colour gold. _She smelt like the colour gold_. Draco inhaled deeply, soaking it all up into his pores. He shifted to get more comfortable, as he knew that he would be there for probably the entire night. As he did so he heard the most inaudible of crackles. He stopped moving, puzzled. He shifted around on the cushion again, and the crackle was there again. Draco frowned and his hand delved into the space between cushion and chair. His fingers found purchase and withdrew. He had in his hand a crinkled and scrunched up piece of paper, ripped from the back of an exercise book. He uncrinkled it and to his own surprise found it to be the very first letter that Hermione had written to her Writer. He sat there, dazed, tracing his fingers over the letters. It was here, and only here, that he would finally manage to fall asleep.

"Hermione…" he drifted off as the dark, welcoming hands of slumber closed in around his troubled mind.

*** A.N. Thankyou so much for reading! Reviews would be very much appreciated. ***


	28. Chapter 28

** A.N. Sorry I haven't posted in ages, everyone! Busy, busy, busy, I've been. Not to mention a fit of writer's block somewhere in the middle. But I squeezed out another for you, and I haven't even proof-read it, so I'm sorry if it either doesn't make sense or is crap, but I tried. I'll post as soon as possible! Review, regardless!**

Chapter 28

Draco was awoken rudely by pale pink early sunlight washing across the chair. He squinted, and rolled over to block the glare out. He fell of the chair, a startled and embarrassingly high-pitched shriek escaping his lips. He jumped to his feet, suddenly alert and wide awake. His arms were stinging from impact and his ego felt horrified. He glanced about, making sure no one had seen him. He relaxed a little when he realized no one was around, not even madam Pince, and the memories slowly filtered back. He felt sick with shame at forgetting, even for a moment. He darted out of the library, and headed immediately for the area where he would be most able to find information about Hermione; the great Hall. He could barely stop himself from running down the stone corridors as the sunlight turned golden and the occupants of the castle would be slowly awaking. Panic was building inside his chest like an engorgement charm had hit him and his throat was informing him that it had a bezoar stuck in it. His only thought was of Hermione, of their last moments together, of the words she never heard…

He didn't even reach the Great Hall though before his breath hitched in his throat and his heart stopped. He had passed a pair of excited Hufflepuffs and as he walked by he caught a snatch of a phrase.

"Did you know? Potter and that Granger girl were found last night in the-"

Draco had almost reached the end of the corridor before he actually processed the meaning of their words.

It is not often that one gets near crash-tackled to the ground by a bedraggled and insane Slytherin. However, on that morning when Jeremy Yeomans was standing in the corridor with his friend, the golden sunlight coming through the windows as they headed down to breakfast, just that happened to him. One second he was debating with his friend whether the Ravenclaw Quidditch girls were hotter than the Gryffindor ones ("No way! That Ginny girl is hot!") and then the next, he was grasped by the scruff of his casual robes and staring into the face of a pale blonde boy with desperate eyes and concerning morning breath.

"What did you say?" the boy said, and Jeremy leant away from him, startled. The boy was practically strangling him through his robes.

"I- Said- s-s-s-Something about Ginny Weasley?"

"No, no, before that. About Granger!" The pale boy was becoming frustrated quickly.

"Ooooooh!" said Jeremy as it clicked.

"She and Potter and a bunch of others were found in the Ministry of Magic last night! They had been in a fight with a bunch of death eaters- (the pale boy became even paler)- and apparently You-Know-Who's BACK!" This didn't quite seem to be what the boy wanted to hear either.

"What about Granger? Is she alright? Where is she now?" He was shaking Jeremy by his robes as though trying to remove a packet of Droobles best blowing gum from a vending machine.

"Whoah-oah-oah, stop that! She's up in the hospital wing or something, I heard Flitwick talking about it with…" But the pale boy was already racing away. Jeremy looked at his friend, who just stared at him, shrugged, and they continued with their original conversation.

Draco pelted through the corridors. He barely knew what he was doing. He had suddenly been gripped by the knowledge that Hermione was back, in the castle, and she was hurt. He needed to see her, to make sure that she was going to be alright, even if she wasn't at that very moment. He raced up flights of stairs and through passageways. It was only when he reached the closed doors of the hospital wing that he stopped and came to his senses. He had just spent the night on a chair in the library and probably looked a mess. Also, there was a high chance that there would be other people in there, probably her Gryffindor friends. They would not take kindly to his presence. It would bring up very awkward questions that he was not in any position to answer. He was hesitating, calculating. He was finally here, on the brink of seeing Hermione again, but he couldn't enter. And so Draco did what every Slytherin does when they reach a moment of indecision; he preened himself. He quickly cast a breath freshening charm and found a window to use as a make-shift mirror, where he tried to straighten his robes and his hair. It took up ten minutes or so. When he had straightened every button on his shirt, his eyes were caught by the door, standing resolutely shut. Finally, what little Gryffindor courage and selflessness he supposedly had seemed to win over his self-preservation, and he slowly pushed open the door, three words still set in his mind.


	29. Chapter 29

***A.N. That's another one in the space of a week! Be proud, guys, be proud. One more chapter left. I hope you all like it. ***

Chapter 29

The ward was silent. He looked up the aisle, at the beds neatly made and steeped in golden light. He saw curtains closed at the very end of the hall, around a bed, and a horrible lurch threatened to upend the nothingness in Draco's stomach. He scanned across though and his fears dissipated; there, her hair in an enormous bushy cloud around her face laid Hermione. Her eyes were closed and her face tilted towards the sunlight. Her left hand rested over her middle, above the blankets. Her fingers twitched. She looked so peaceful… Draco walked towards her, minding not to wake whoever it was in the other bed. As he approached, her face became more focused and Draco started at the angry red strings of scars along her delicate hands and up her arm. He continued to move toward her, and his eyes noticed similar red strings around her neck and across her partially exposed collarbone. Draco was horrified that his dear Hermione was in such a state, that he had not been able to stop whatever THIS was that had happened to her….

He conjured a chair down from the far end of the ward, sat in it and took Hermione's hand gently in his. As his fingers slowly weaved their way in between, the way that they had been made to be, Draco heard the tiniest of sighs escape Hermione's lips and she stretched her body upwards. She twisted her head around to face Draco as she slowly opened her eyes, her beautiful, glorious, wonderful, splendiferous eyes…

"Draco," she said softly, and a sleepy smile stretched across her face. He couldn't take it; a small cry escaped his lips as he buried his face in her hair, lifting her up in his arms. Her scarred arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders and she rested her head in the crook of his neck. Draco let out an enormous watery sigh of relief, his shoulders shuddering as he struggled to let out his emotions in a "manly" way.

"You're safe," was all he could say. He clutched her closer, and Hermione pretended to not notice as she felt her hair dampening under his tears. She loved the feel of his arms around her, despite the pain from her wounds, and she melted to the shape of his body. She couldn't help it.

"You should never have left…" he said after a while, nuzzling his face in her hair.

"I know." She said. Hermione closed her eyes. She had so much to tell him, but she couldn't. There was so much that she knew she would never be able to tell him. It tore her apart. She knew that there was no hiding what had happened; if he didn't know now, he would find out soon and in a far more brutal way. From his friends, from a newspaper, from his own mother… She had to tell him. But she couldn't. But she had to. But she couldn't. Her stomach lurching, she looked into his eyes, his slightly puffy, blue-grey eyes. Hermione leant her forehead against his, She pleaded mentally with him to understand, to not hate her, to forgive her…

"Your father was there last night," she said, trying to steady her frantic heartbeat. She was convinced her would be able to feel it.

"He attacked us in the ministry. He was trying to get a…" she stopped herself- "….thing for Voldemort. It was all so panicked, there was so much running, and screaming… I only found out this morning that, well…" She had squeezed her eyes shut to avoid looking at him, but there was no avoiding it now. She realized that she couldn't feel his breath against her nose. He was holding his breath in anticipation.

"Your father was arrested last night."

Draco's body stopped functioning. His heart stopped, turned to stone and plummeted through the floor of the hospital wing right down below the dungeons. His brain decided to retire and become an Olympic swimmer. His stomach decided it wanted to be a Narwhal, and his lungs decided they were better suited to the lifestyle of bowling balls. And then, achingly slowly, as if the film had been rethreaded in the theatre projector, his assorted body parts pulled together to form a comeback tour and recommenced its functions. His brain was instantaneously beaten around the edges by a million strings of thoughts. Anger; at his father for hurting the girl he loved, at the ministry for catching him, at the Dark Lord for sending his father on a fool's errand. Sadness; as much as he hated his father, he didn't want him going to live in such a hell as Azkaban. Guilt; if he had been there to protect Hermione, to protect them all, even Potter, would it be different?

Hermione was staring into his eyes, and he could see the greatest sadness whirling within them, a sadness he had never been witness to before. Years later, he would see it again, in the eyes of the Weasley twin, as he stood by the grave of his own buried reflection. Draco would never be able to describe the way that look embodied the hopelessness and desolation felt by the soul behind it.

"I'm so sorry, Draco. I never wanted any of this to happen…" a single tear slid down the side of her face, and Draco finally realized what it all meant. His father was in Azkaban for attacking Hogwarts students and working for Voldemort and Hermione was now (whether she liked it or not) a member of the Order of the Phoenix. The Dark Lord would be angry at his father's failure, and he would want to punish Draco and his mother for it. There was a very high chance that he would have to take the place of his father as a death eater to protect his family. But with everything else aside, there was one thing that was obvious; Hermione and Draco had already had their sides chosen for them, long before the war had even truly started.

"Oh, Hermione," He said, and swept her into his arms again. She could feel his longing, his need to soak up every part of her, and she knew that he had reached the same conclusion as she had. There was no way they could ever be together. Not now, and never in the future. The gap forced between them was immovable. She closed her eyes and another tear fell. She felt him shift his head against the side of her neck, and Draco said in a whisper,

"It can't end like this…. I can't bear to ever be away from you."

"And I can't bear to be away from you. Oh, what on earth are we going to do, Draco?" He was sitting on the bed by then, and he pulled her onto his lap and held her curled against his chest like a child.

"We'll stay like this," he said, "and we'll never move, ever. I won't ever let you go." Hermione felt her stomach burst with warm happiness at his words.

"Okay, Draco. That sounds like an excellent plan."

** cough Cough i LOVE reviews. Any opinions at all would be appreciated. Unless they're just flames. If it's constructive, go for it. :) Thanks for reading, everyone!****


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Draco sat with her curled against his chest as the sun warmed their backs. It was the weekend, so he didn't have to go to classes, but every time Madam Pomfrey made movements to come out of her office he had to scarper. He was also forced to leave whenever they heard stirrings in the other bed ("That's RON!") but that was over after a day or so, when Ron left the hospital wing. Potter and his friends seemed to be constantly there, and Draco did walk-bys of the hospital wing as soon as his will broke and he couldn't stay away any longer. That wasn't very long, mind you, because he was a Slytherin after all. When they were alone, they lay together on Hermione's bed, and Draco would stroke her hair. She was still very weak from both the spell Dolohov hit her with and the strange scars on her hands that she didn't want to talk about. They were fading fast, and in the space of only a few days they had flattened out and paled to almost nothing.

On her third night in the hospital wing, on a Monday, Draco snuck her out and they went to the top of the astronomy tower, just to stare at the stars. Hermione had always dreamed of watching the stars with someone, and not in an educational way… Just watching them. It felt so peaceful. Hermione lay there on her back and mulled over things. She knew that there would be very little peace in the future now that Voldemort was rallying his forces. She needed this now, so that when it got harder like she knew it would, she could look back and remember. She rolled over onto her side, and gazed at Draco. His eyes were fixed upwards, a smile playing across his features as he breathed deeply. He was so lovely. There was no other word for him. He was just… Beautiful. Feeling her gaze, he looked at her at rolled over so that he was facing her. Silently, she extended a hand to him. He took it in his own, and kissed it, and they just lay there in silence as the night slowly fell away and they slipped into dreams.

Draco carried Hermione princess-style back to the hospital wing, and placed her gently on the bed. He pulled the blankets up around her sleeping form and kissed her forehead. As he pulled his lips away, he suddenly remembered the words that had escaped the right moment for so long. _Better now than never_, he thought to himself. Slowly, deliberately, he placed his lips close to her ear, and in the darkness, he whispered to the girl those three little words;

"I love you."

And as he pulled himself away from her sleeping form, he heard her sigh, and in her dreaming state he heard the faintest of replies,

"I love you too."

And Draco smiled.

Hermione's bags had been kindly packed by Ginny, and Neville had even managed to carry them down the stairs without falling over. There was only ten minutes left before the Hogwarts Express left for the school holidays, and Hermione was filled with an overwhelming sense of the end. She hid it behind her smile, and she joked along with the others, but underneath that were the thoughts and memories that were playing in a highlights reel; the first letter, the moonlight kiss at Halloween, the Whomping Willow fiasco… It was all going to become just that. A mere memory. Hermione held the grand front doors open as Neville gallantly hoisted her trunk onto a trolley along with the others and wheeled it out. As they approached the station the sounds of the hissing steam and the babbling of the students going on holiday became louder. Hermione wondered whether she would see him again before it was the end, and she wasn't sure whether that would be a good thing or a bad thing. The station was packed with students mulling around and piles of luggage were everywhere. Owls were screeching in their cages, cats were mewling in their owner's arms, and there were loud bangs coming from the far end of the platform as someone set off a packet of Fillibuster's best fireworks. Hermione followed her friends as the conductor blew the train whistle and the students began to pile on to the train. She had put one foot onto the step of the train and was about to hoist herself in when she glanced over her shoulder. There, standing alone and still amongst the chaos, was Draco. He caught her eye, and he smiled, hopefully, resignedly, assuredly. He gave the tiniest wave to her and with a smile she returned it. Their eyes spoke multitudes of the happy sadness emanating from them. Then, as quickly as she had seen him, he melted away into the crowd, and Hermione felt her sadness lifting.

"What is it?" Ginny asked her, turning around to find what Hermione was looking at.

"Just getting one last look, before it ends…" Hermione said, and she heaved herself into the carriage. Her smile was slowly becoming genuine, and the knot in her chest was unraveling. It felt as though the sadness was melting as she and Draco were being carried away from Hogwarts. Although she would miss him and everything that had happened, she'd sort of always known they could never be together. They had always been destined to be apart. But she'd keep on smiling. For the times she'd had… with him.

***A.N. Well, that's it! Story done! I hope that those of you who stuck with me "until the very end" are happy with this ending. I tried to stay true to the original book as much as possible, so it fits in with the fifth book as a subplot, if you will... Please, review it, even if you don't like it. :) Any questions will be answered, don't you worry. Thanks again!****


	31. ALTERNATE ENDING

*** A.N. This is for the people who felt that the other ending was an anti-climax. You can pick and choose your ending, either is sort of okay by me…Those who like the other ending, don't even touch this one... :P ****

The Writer: Alternate Ending

…Hermione hauled herself up onto the train and used her hands to balance as the train jolted into action. She adjusted the strap of her heavy bag filled with books so that it stopped cutting into her shoulder and walked up the narrow corridor to try and find an uninhabited booth. She passed the booth filled with her friends but kept walking past. Hermione just wanted to be alone for the moment, and debrief herself for the summer. She still couldn't quite believe that the best thing that had happened in her life (apart from going to Hogwarts, of course) had been ruined by the worst thing to happen in her life. But there was no way around it. They had to face the facts, and realize that they could never be together.

Hermione sighed, resignedly, and finally found an empty booth at the end of the carriage. She pulled the door open, and tripped as she stepped forward to enter. She hit the ground, palms of hands and knees first, and tried not to cry as she picked herself up. Everything in her carry-on satchel had exploded across the floor of the compartment. Quills, a spilt bottle of ink, her journal, where she had stuck all of the Writer's letters, and schoolbooks had scattered themselves everywhere. Hermione peeled herself up off the carpet and took her time picking everything up. After all, there was no rush. It wasn't like she had anywhere to go, anywhere to be. She removed the ink stain with her wand and scooped up her quills and diary, placing it on the seat. She had just picked up her copy of Hogwarts: A History, when a slip of paper slid out from between its pages. Curiosity piquing her interest, Hermione picked it up and frowned a little, discarding the book in her hand on the chair and sitting down. She frowned a little as she had to break the wax seal on it. She scanned through the letter.

_Hermione,_

_I don't care about sides. I don't care about the War that will be coming. I only care about one thing, on this entire planet; you. Have you ever heard of cheating the system? I think that we should do just that._

_I'll see you next year my love,_

_Draco._

Hermione hugged the letter to her chest. And so in the way it began, it ends.

*** A.N. Hope those of you who didn't like the other ending will prefer this one! Not how I would have ended it, but if you all insist… And I don't think there will be a sequel. Thanks for reading, guys!****


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